


Portraits

by RoswellSmokingWoman, RulesOfDisorder (RoswellSmokingWoman)



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alpha!hannibal, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Apertif AU, Breeding, Cannibalism, M/M, Mpreg, Murder Husbands, Mutual Pining, Omega!will, Pregnancy Kink, soul mates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2020-09-26 14:49:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 29,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20391460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoswellSmokingWoman/pseuds/RoswellSmokingWoman, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoswellSmokingWoman/pseuds/RulesOfDisorder
Summary: Will and Hannibal meet in Jack's office. From that moment on, Will knows that he wants Hannibal.





	1. Rococo

Portraits

The first time Hannibal Lecter comes into Will Graham’s orbit, Will loses time. For a moment, he forgets about Jack’s overbearing presence and instead becomes enthralled in the musky warm vanilla-tobacco sent of Hannibal. It’s raw, dangerous—it’s the scent of home.

The Omega inside of Will mewls out; it’s found its mate. He immediately looks away from Hannibal. Will cannot and will not surrender.

“Not fond of eye contact, are you?” Hannibal asks. His voice is accented and deep, with a slight roughness to it. All too quickly, it becomes the only voice Will wants to hear.

Will finally relents and looks into Hannibal’s honey-pot eyes, becoming trapped in their sweetness only to find beneath the lure is a deadly capability. The Alpha is strong; Will knows it immediately. The Alpha is dangerous; the perfect match for the volatility of Will’s Omega.

But Will, Will refuses to allow an Alpha to get to him. He’s thankful for the scent-blockers and suppressants he uses. Hannibal wouldn’t know of Will’s gender, and that’s how Will wanted it to be. The Omega inside of Will lets out a small sob.

****

The next time Will sees Hannibal, Hannibal has brought Will breakfast. It’s like a gift, and Will’s heart can’t help but skip a beat when he sees the Alpha present him this display of care. From the first bite, Will is in love with the food.

“_My Alpha,”_ his Omega calls out. It’s purring. Will tries his best to suppress this. He does not want and will never want an Alpha. Will is not made for such a relationship, preferring betas for their lack of possessiveness and more open mind-set. And even then, the betas were brief trysts and whirl-wind romances, fleeting features of his life he would never get overly attached to.

But Hannibal is different; Will is attached almost immediately.

“I don’t find you that interesting,” Will tells Hannibal.

“You will,” Hannibal replies with a smirk.

_“Does he know I already do?”_ Will thinks to himself, his inner Omega responding, _“I hope he does.” _

****

The next time Hannibal and Will are together, they’re in the car. They’re driving to the Minnesota Shrike’s den; there’s no Jack and no FBI. Perhaps it’s even a bit reckless, but Will is at ease with Hannibal next to him. He sneaks a peak at Hannibal as they drive, looking at the sharp lines of his face, the beauty of his cheekbones, the softness of his lips…

“_NO!” _Will yells at himself internally.

They’re at the cabin soon, and the next events happen in a blur. Hobbs’ wife murdered; Abigail’s throat is slit. Will moves quickly, shooting Hobbs. But it’s too late; Abigail is bleeding out. There’s blood everywhere. Bullet holes are etched into Will’s mind. His Omega screams for Hannibal.

“See? See?” Hobbs says to Will before dying.

Will is shaking, trying to save Abigail. But he can’t. He feels like a failure; an Omega must nurture and protect. Abigail is like his own child in his arms; she’s gone too quickly.

Hannibal appears behind Will, watching the man’s face become striped with tears as Abigail lay dead in his arms. He sits on the floor beside Will and takes him into his arms.

“You must let go, Will,” Hannibal tells him.

The ambulance siren rings in his ears as he lets go of Abigail, her lifeless body limp on the floor. “She killed with him,” Will moans in pain. “It feels like I killed her.”

Hannibal only grips Will tighter, breathing in the scent coming from Will’s neck. It’s sweet, irresistible, slowly growing thicker on Will’s skin is now apparent. Hannibal knows it then—understands the attraction he’s felt for this man. He’d never been so enraptured by a beta before.

The paramedics come, and Hannibal lifts Will from the floor.

A shorter paramedic, omega male turns to Hannibal. “Would you like us to help your mate?”

“He isn’t injured. Just shaken up,” Hannibal replies as he guides Will out of the house.

The word mate rings in Will’s ears as Hannibal carries him out. He takes comfort in Hannibal’s presence. Before they know it, they’re in the car.

“You’re an omega,” Hannibal says blankly.

“I never wanted you to know—I never wanted anyone to know.” Will looks away from Hannibal. “I forgot to take my medications this morning, with the events. It was stupid of me.” Will falls silent, his Omega calling out to Hannibal’s Alpha.

Hannibal’s hand brushes over Will’s, but Wills jerks his away. He stares out of the window as Hannibal drives. His mind is spinning, the image of Abigail fresh on his brain and Hannibal’s comfort muddling his thoughts.

_“My Omega,”_ Hannibal’s Alpha whispers into Hannibal’s ear.

****

Hannibal doesn’t see Will for a week after that. He gets worried, an aching loneliness biting at his chest. Though unbonded, Hannibal feels a deep seeded connection to Will Graham. The disheveled, gruff man—how could this be his match? Hannibal’s refined tastes were in direct conflict with Will’s more minimalistic, introverted lifestyle. And yet, Hannibal finds comfort in this private circle Will holds himself in. He feels as if Will would allow him in, he would take the most special place in Will’s heart. It’s this prize that entices Hannibal, the prize of being inside of Will. He wants to know Will’s every thought. He wants will to belong to him, body and mind.

He feels arousal at the thought of biting into Will’s neck, leaving a lasting scar that would serve as a reminder to the world that no one else can have Will. He’s snapped back into reality when he realizes he is more alone than ever now, not a returned call from Will. Perhaps the signs of affection Hannibal had displayed repulsed Will. His chest heaves at the thought. Hannibal picks up his phone once more, staring at the numbers on the screen. His finger hovers over the call button, hesitant.

****

Will is delirious with the thoughts of Hannibal swimming in his mind. He hadn’t failed to notice the calls on his phone. In Jack’s office the day before, Will hadn’t failed to notice the lingering scent of Hannibal. His omega urges him to run to his alpha. But Hannibal isn’t his alpha; Will doesn’t want to have an alpha. And yet…

Hannibal is a name that sings out to him like a sultry song, a prelude to passion filled existence.

Hannibal is a name that calls out to him like a siren, his ship sinking without regret in the water.

Hannibal is a name that grasps him by the throat and suffocates him deliciously.

His mind spins as the air around him grows thick. He blinks, but a darkness consumes him, and he’s lost…

Regaining his control, Will finds himself at Hannibal’s home, standing on the doorstep shivering. The doorbell echoes through interior, but Will doesn’t remember pressing it. He shakes his head, swearing to himself softly. He feels a wet hotness dripping from his insides. Had he forgotten to take his suppressants so often this month that it would result in this?

Hannibal opens the door, a gasp escaping his lips. “Hello, Will,” Hannibal says calmly.

Will can tell there are other things that Hannibal would like to say but doesn’t. He wouldn’t sacrifice his poised behavior, no matter the emotions he is feeling. Will opens his mouth and closes it again, unsure of where to begin. The scent of Hannibal pounces at Will, and Will’s omega claws at him to lunge at Hannibal and take him at the threshold.

“You haven’t been answering my calls,” Hannibal says then. He leans closer to Will, and then notices the sweet scent on his skin. “Are you alright? Come inside.” He puts his arms around Will and guides him into the home.

Will shakes his head. “I’m not alright. Not at all.”

“You’re going into heat, Will. Why did you come here? You don’t want an alpha,” but to Hannibal this means more. _“You don’t want me,”_ Hannibal thinks to himself.

“You’re all I ever think about,” Will begins. “I want to forget you. I don’t want to think about you. I can’t,” Will is shaking, emotions taking over him. “You’re right, I don’t want an alpha.”

They stand in the foyer, the front door closed. Normally Hannibal would have invited him into the living room, but he isn’t sure if Will would want to stay. “Did you come to tell me all this?” Hannibal asks.

“I don’t remember coming here. I was at Quantico and then… I was here. I am here.”

“Your heat is approaching fast, if you’ve begun blacking out. I can drive you home, if you would like.” Hannibal uses this nicety, hoping to regain Will’s trust. His body tells him that Will is his true mate; if only he could coax the same knowledge into Will. Perhaps not this heat, but by the next. Will could be his.

“I haven’t had a heat in years. I don’t know what to do, Hannibal—this wasn’t supposed to happen. I took the suppressants regularly. Until you. And then everything became a blur. We cannot have a relationship, professional or otherwise.” Will is taking fast, looking away from Hannibal. He fights the urge to take back the words, to say that his omega has found a home in Hannibal’s alpha. He fights the urge to strip and present for him at that moment.

“I will be sure to inform Jack, then,” Hannibal says flatly. He desperately tries to hide the pain behind the still glass of his eyes. But he knows he’s breaking slowly in front of Will. It’s a weakness Hannibal doesn’t particularly like having. “Before I do, I will send the letter certifying you’re psychologically stable, so you may continue working with Jack.” Another trick, one Hannibal hopes might entice Will to reconsider his impression of alphas.

“You’re rubber stamping me?” Will questions him.

“It is the very least I can do, considering I have burdened you so. At least this way, you can know that there’s no bad feelings between us.” Hannibal purses his lips, looking deep into Will’s ocean blue eyes. He sees the storm underneath him, the carnal danger that lets Hannibal know Will is the one for him.

“Any good psychiatrist would never rubber stamp me, Doctor Lecter.”

“Ah there it is—_Doctor Lecter_,” Hannibal muses to himself, ever more impersonal Will is becoming. Hannibal would have to take control over the path of the conversation. “I’m not your psychiatrist. Though Jack doesn’t know that. But I know being out of the field, so soon after entering it, would cause you a great deal of pain. And if I have the power to prevent that pain, then I will use it to do so. Regardless of what you may say, you have come to mean a great deal to me dear Will.”

Will feels aflush with his heat, his inner omega shouting at him that this is his alpha. A good alpha. One that would never bore Will. An unconventional alpha that would never suppress Will. He moves closer to Hannibal, subconsciously trying to close the space between them. “Why should you care about me?”

“You are worth caring about,” Hannibal whispers softly. His lifts his hand to Will’s cheek, and Will doesn’t move away. “Are you sure that you would like to go?”

“It would be better,” he replies, but he doesn’t move.

“Why is that?” Hannibal isn’t ready to let Will go, not yet. His inner alpha urges him to coax Will into his bed gently and plant his seed deep into Will. Adrenaline courses through his veins at the thought of Will round with his pups. A mate in the FBI would give Hannibal an edge over the FBI, after all. Their bonding could have multiple benefits, all of which Hannibal finds irresistible.

Will bites his bottom lip gently. “Because I want you, Hannibal. I’ve never wanted another alpha before.” He isn’t so sure that he wants to leave; it would mean not seeing Hannibal anymore. And his inner omega whined at the thought of losing its alpha.

“Do you want me now, Will?” Hannibal asks. When Will nods, he closes the space between them, pressing his lips against Will’s lips. The kiss deepens quickly as Hannibal inserts his tongue into Will’s mouth, eliciting a moan from the omega. Hannibal parts from Will for a moment, in a play to gain his trust. “If we do this, Will, I will bond with you. This is your last chance to back out. Do you want to?”

No other alpha would ever ask this of Will. There is a deep knowledge inside of Will that Hannibal is manipulating him to some extent, and yet he likes the game Hannibal is playing. It’s the kind of game that Will enjoys playing, too. Dangerous and dirty. “No,” Will says as his heat overtakes him.


	2. Fauvism

Fauvism

“Hannibal,” Will breathes against Hannibal’s neck as Hannibal picks Will up into his arms.

“I can’t believe I’m going to have you, darling,” Hannibal growls as he carries Will into his bedroom. He pushes the door open with his foot, revealing the lavishly decorated inside. The bedframe is a dark wood, and his sheets are a stormy grey silk. Will’s Omega purrs as the strength and success of his alpha. He feels as if Hannibal would take care of him; a need to deeply buried in Will that his hole drips with wetness upon its surfacing.

Hannibal sets Will down on the sheets, gazing over the Omega on his bed in lust. “I want you to remove your clothes for me, William,” Hannibal commands with arousal dripping from his words. Will does so, his fingers fumbling from the heat-fueled haze. Will lets his clothes fall from the side of the bed, revealing alabaster skin, his body finely toned. Hannibal licks his lip as he views Will, imagining the taste of Will’s skin against his tongue. He imagines plating his creations on Will’s abdomen and sharing his artwork with Will, feeding Will in between his own bites. His cock presses harder against his already straining pants and his eyes become tinged with honey and red.

“Tell me what you want, Hannibal,” Will moans as he reaches down for his own cock.

Hannibal takes Will’s hand away from his own cock, “Let me pleasure you Will. I want to show you how good I can make you feel.”

Hannibal removes his clothes, revealing a study body with strong arms and a layer of chest hair that makes Will salivate. “Alpha,” Will preens.

Hannibal climbs on top of him, placing a sweet kiss on Will’s lips. “My Omega,” he tells Will. “Only mine.” He presses kisses down Will’s body, stopping at his bellybutton. Will’s eyes roll back at the sensation.

“I need you, now,” Will is growing more aroused, Hannibal’s bedsheets already bearing the mark of Will’s slick. “I need your knot inside of me.”

“Patience,” Hannibal chides as he sticks his finger into Will’s anus. He pulls it in and out slowly at first, relishing the warmth and wetness of it. “Don’t tell me I’ve caused this, darling,” Hannibal whispers as he presses a kiss to Will’s thigh.

“It’s all for you,” Will replies, as he begins rolling onto his stomach in order to present.

Hannibal hold Will down. “No, no. I want to see your face this first time. I want to watch every feeling wash across your face.” Hannibal climbs on top of Will carefully and he inserts his alpha cock into Will, feeling dizzy at the perfection that is Will. “Oh, mylimasis,” Hannibal sighs into Will’s ear as he pumps into him. Will cries out in ecstasy, urging Hannibal to go faster.

“Tell me what you want,” Hannibal growls as he pumps into Will, nibbling on his shoulder. He begins pressing kisses up his shoulder, to Will’s neck. His teeth brush up against Will’s neck.

“I want you to fill me with your seed. Make me yours. Oh God, Hannibal.” Will grips Hannibal’s arms as he thrusts into him violently, feeling the swell of Hannibal’s knot expanding. “I want to carry your pups; I’ll give you a litter,” Will moans as he feels his vision blur at the pleasure. He feels it deep inside, that Hannibal is his one true mate.

“I’m going to fuck you until there’s no chance that you’re not round with my pups.” Hannibal bites down on Will’s neck, tasting the sweet blood from the Omega as the bond forms and he releases his seed into Will.

****

A week has passed, and Hannibal and Will lie in Hannibal’s bed, exhausted. The last wisps of Will’s heat are fading away. Hannibal places his hand over Will’s slightly rounded abdomen, filled to the brim with his seed. He knows that it’s Will’s first heat since being off of suppressants; it is highly likely that Will isn’t pregnant from this heat. And yet, a small part of Hannibal hopes anyway. He looks at his claimed omega, the bond they share causing Hannibal’s feelings to grow evermore. He feels it now, this closeness to Will—he feels the murder and blood buried deep in Will’s psyche. He feels the potential festering within him. Hannibal cannot resist it.

Will shuffles uncomfortable under Hannibal’s arm, and looks down to the small swell of his abdomen. “I don’t want to be pregnant, Hannibal,” Will mutters into his pillow.

“We will have to discuss the deeply buried need that comes out during your heat, perhaps at a later time,” Hannibal breathes, hurt.

“All omegas ask for it during heat,” Will counters, not wanting to be psychoanalyzed. “This is why bonds are tricky; we bonded before we had a chance to talk. I don’t know you; you don’t know me.” Will closes his eyes, trying to think logically though he feels as if he’s fighting against himself in doing so.

“But you feel a change now, with the bond, don’t you?” Hannibal asks.

Will nods in response.

“Are you scared?” Hannibal asks, wondering if Will can feel the darkness looming within Hannibal. He wonders if Will finds it beautiful, or if he finds it terrifying.

“No,” Will begins followed by a brief pause. “No, you feel like finding a home in an unexpected place. It’s strange, but something is so breath-taking about it.” Will refrains from telling Hannibal that he feels the storm breaking underneath Hannibal’s skin: the anger, violence, and murder that Will knows reside there. Will isn’t terrified of this; instead, it feels like a familiar comfort, one that he cannot live without. Will wonders why he does run away, escape before it’s too late—even a bond could be broken, though not without some pain on his part. And yet, he cannot. He’s curious as to what lies underneath the mask Hannibal wears. He wonders what he would find if he pokes and prods just long enough.

But these thoughts don’t deter Will from the more pressing worry on his mind—that Will and Hannibal had not used any form of contraception. That Will had asked Hannibal to breed him, repeatedly over the past week. That Hannibal had filled him so thoroughly with his seed, that Will feels more bloated and round than he would feel after a Thanksgiving feast. But what worries him most, is that Hannibal—his alpha—is disappointed that Will does not want his pups, not now.

Almost as if Hannibal is reading Will’s mind, “And what if you do end up carrying our pup?” Hannibal asks him quietly.

But Will doesn’t answer. Instead, he loses himself in his thoughts about how his life can return to normal. But he realizes, that his old normal would be nothing like the new normal he would have to find with Hannibal.

****

Sitting in Jack’s office, Will stares down at the desk, inspecting the newest addition to it. Jack placed a small figurine of a lion in front of his and Bella’s photo. Will knows all to well that it’s how Jack feels—as if he is stalking his prey, serial killers, until he can catch them. Jack wants to be the lion who rules over the herd, but Jack doesn’t realize that he’s too hot headed for this role.

Jack stares at the Omega in front of him—Will, who he thought was a beta before. He’s at a loss for words, and he takes in the sight of the bond mark on Will’s neck. “You are aware that now that your secondary gender is revealed, things will have to change?” Jack finally states, anger tinging his voice.

“Why does anything have to change, Jack?”

Jack stares sternly at Will, his mouth slightly open. “Because I had an omega on my team, unknowingly allowing him into the field without proper paperwork, without proper procedure.”

“You mean without proper baby-ing. I’m not a delicate flower that’s supposed to be held with care. You’ve seen me work,” Will responds. “Nothing has to change.”

“You have an empathy disorder, on top of being an Omega. We had issues with the empathy disorder, in the beginning. Few if any psychiatrists would allow you into the field. Mix in the fact that you’re an Omega—”

Will cuts him off. “And what, no one would think I could possibly handle field work? And yet I have, and I do. And I will continue working until someone comes to me with paperwork that says I cannot. And even then—you’ll come to me, as a consultant. On the side. What difference does it make, Jack? That I’m and Omega.” Will is fuming, his hands shaking. He is disgusted by Jack’s anger, but he feels the man soften.

“I would rather have you on my team than not, Graham. But sometimes these choices aren’t up to me. Does your mate think you should stay in the field? I don’t know many Alphas who would allow it.”

Will nods, “He does.”

There’s a long silence between them; Jack is curious who Will’s Alpha is. Will hadn’t had a relationship in a long time, or he would have known. He saw it on Will when he approached him in the lecture hall. The change had come suddenly; one day he knew Will was infatuated with someone. Jack assumed it was Alana, but Alana is a beta.

“You’re itching to ask me who would mate with me, Jack,” Will finally says. “You’ve looked at my bite mark three times in the last minute.”

“Will—”

“Maybe you think that any Alpha would be stupid to take me as their Omega, at least deeply on the inside. You’re confused.”

“I didn’t call you over to dissect you, goddamnit Graham!” Jack finally shouts. “I called you here about a case.”

****

When Will finally comes home to see Hannibal, Will is shaking. The field had always done this to him, but Hannibal knows it’s good for Will in a way. The more time Will spends in the minds of others, the more Will discovers himself. Hannibal sits next to the Omega, comforting him in his arms.

So, he listens intently as Will tells him about the latest case, about the mushroom garden growing in the forest over bodies living on IV sugar-water.

“The structure of a fungus mirrors that of the human brain an intricate web of connections,” Hannibal tells Will eventually.

It clicks for Will then; Will sees the killer perfectly. Hannibal watches as satisfaction passes over Will’s face, and notes the pleasant aroma coming from the Omega’s skin. There’s a flash of a killer on Will that does not go unnoticed by Hannibal, but he will wait until later to ask Will about this.

He lets out a hum in satisfaction as Will presses closer into Hannibal. “You smell good,” Will tells him.

“I would assume so, since you’ve allowed me to bond with you,” Hannibal replies, amused. “It’s been hard these past few days, with you gone off on this case.”

“Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts about me being in the field,” Will responds defensively. He’s ready for an argument, already having calculated every response he could possibly have for Hannibal.

But Hannibal knows the advantage he has keeping Will in the field, “No, nothing of the sort. Am I not allowed to miss you?”

“We barely know each other, Hannibal.”

“But I do know you,” he states, stroking Will’s curls gently. He knows perfectly well what resides in Will.


	3. Art Deco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. The next chapter will be up sooner, hopefully!

Art Deco

Will can feel the sweat beading on his forehead as he chases after Stammets. It was perfectly clear to him, the detached beta wanted a connection above all. And Will, who could empathize with anyone, was the perfect choice. In a way, Stammets was infatuated with the idea of someone who could holy understand him. In that moment, as Will runs after Stammets, its as if every bit of Stammets’ psyche is clear; Will is in Stammets mind and crawls around it with ease.

His heart breaks at the loneliness inside, but there’s something muddling the heartbreak. He’s disgusted, disgusted by the manner in which Stammets wants to connect. Ironically, the mushrooms are too impersonal. Stammets is an imperfect killer. Will wishes he could truly pity him. They’re in the hospital, Stammets having gotten desperate after Jack and the team had gotten to the pharmacy. He targets the very hospital where Abigail was taken; the one where it was fully confirmed she was beyond saving. Stammets finds a girl—the same age, the same height, the same weight, the same color hair—as a tribute to Will. _“Find me,” _Stammets calls to him. It’s desperate, aching.

Will doesn’t hesitate as he shoots, Stammets falling to the ground. His hand is shaking afterwards, and he looks down to it. A deep, satisfied euphoria flares through his body from his core. It terrifies Will—_“Why does killing him feel so good?”_ Will asks himself, a brief conscious realization of his capability. And then, the sorrow follows quickly. Will doesn’t want to be a killer; he could never pull the trigger before. Now his fingers pulls it with an urgency, as if the trigger is the only thing which could possibly sooth the hunger within him… Will is starving.

He hears hooves behind him, but his mind screams. This friend, all too familiar now, has returned. The stag lets out a contended huff. Will wishes he could speak to it, ask it why it’s here. _“Why won’t you leave?”_ He shouts in his mind.

A pair of arms surround his body. Will collapses onto the floor before realizing that those arms belong to Hannibal.

****

Hannibal looks at Stammets’ dead body on the hospital floor, red leaking onto the white tile. He loves the contrast; there is something poetic about the blood splatters on the linoleum. It occurs to him that he misses his time as a surgeon; that dreadful weight of a surgical room reflected in the meat. Hannibal loved the taste of terror in his meals.

His alpha snaps him back to Will, shaking on the floor. He looks into Will’s eyes and notices that beyond the horror, beyond the sorrow, is a killer patting himself on the back for a job well done. Hannibal is proud of his mate. He wonders how far Will would go. But now, he must play the part of the dutiful alpha, comforting his mate. He presses a kiss onto Will’s forehead before picking him up off the floor.

Seconds later, Jack runs down the hall shouting. Always late, that Jack. Perhaps he would be a better agent if he were just a few seconds quicker—but Hannibal liked that slowness about him. It allowed Hannibal to poke his fingers into Jack’s mind, and just grip a little.

“Everything is alright, love,” he whispers to Will before letting him go fully. “You did wonderfully; you saved her.” But in his mind, Hannibal thinks instead, “You did wonderfully; you killed him.”

****

Days pass. Hannibal hasn’t seen Will since the incident. Will wants to be alone. And while he knows that he must respect Will’s wishes, it pains Hannibal to be apart from Will. The omega is independent, sometimes unattached. It’s problematic for Hannibal’s overall plan, but he knows it would be worse if he pushed Will to see him. And so he allows Will the space, and focuses on other activities.

Hannibal takes a portion of meat out from the fridge and places it on his cutting board. He cuts through it swiftly, the ring of his knife complementing the soft piano music playing in the background. There’s a knock at his door; he isn’t expecting a guest. He leaves the knife on the cutting board and goes to wash his hands thoroughly.

Opening the front door, he sees a girl, brown haired with sadness in her eyes. “Hello,” he greets her. “I can’t say that I know you.”

“You don’t,” she replies. “I read the papers, about Abigail. They said Doctor Hannibal Lecter tried his best to save her. But he couldn’t. You didn’t. I just had to find you. I just had to come. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I’m here. I just didn’t know what to do.”

Hannibal can see the lie; she does know why she’s here. “Would you like to come in?” he asks as he steps away from the door.

She looks down at her feet as Hannibal closes the door behind her. “My name is Marrisa,” she tells him, followed by silence. She’s holding back the words.

“I’m making dinner. You’re welcome to stay for it, if you’d like.” He guides her to the kitchen where he pulls out a wine glass from the cupboard. “Red or white?”

“I’m not picky,” she replies, looking around her. The house is beautiful and the kitchen even more so. “I’ve never seen a house as beautiful as yours,” she tells him.

“Thank you.” He hands a glass of white wine to her, assuming that she would prefer it to the drier red. “I hope you’re not vegetarian,” he states as he returns to his cutting board.

She laughs, “I think I’d starve if I was a vegetarian.”

He lets out a laugh. “Good. We’ll be having braised beef over a parsnip puree; I hope it will be to your liking.”

****

Will sits with Winston on the edge of his bed, staring at his feet. His heart aches; he’s been apart from Hannibal for too long. And yet, he can’t face his mate. How could he, when he doesn’t regret killing Stammets. Will understood killing Hobbs; it was just. Stammets? He was different.

And then, the ever-present companion is at Will’s shoulder. It stares at him silently. “Go away!” Will yells at the stag, placing his hands to the side of his head. “Why can’t you just leave?” He closes his eyes, but even in the dark, the stag is still there.

Will shakes his head, doubting his sanity. How could he be with Hannibal, if he isn’t sane? But that wasn’t all that was on Will’s mind. On the other side of the home, hidden in the bathroom, sticking out of the trashcan, is a white stick with two pink lines. How could he be a father with a mind like this?


	4. Dada

Dada

Marissa sits at the table, watching Hannibal place the meal in front of her delicately. She is in awe at the grandeur of his home, and notes to herself that it’s quite unusual for an alpha to be so homely. As an omega, she feels at unease. But she doesn’t make too much of it, because she’s been uneasy about all aspects of her life ever since hearing about Abigail and her father. She doesn’t listen to her instinct which tells her that this alpha is dangerous, something only sensitive omegas would pick up on.

He sits next to her, and only then does she notice the mating bite on his neck. _“Where is his mate?” _she asks herself. She doesn’t dare ask him this, though. She’s already intruded far too much into Dr. Lecter’s personal life; she doesn’t want to risk losing the answers to her questions.

Hannibal takes her plate and place a portion of meat on it and does the same for his plate. The meal looks decadent; even though it is served family style it’s done with pomp and circumstance. She takes a bite, indulging in the rich flavors. “Wow,” she breathes, “that might be the best thing I’ve ever tried.”

Hannibal smiles broadly, showing his teeth that could be fangs if you looked close enough and peeled back the delicate skin that hid the monster underneath. “When you came, you said you didn’t know why you came. That isn’t true, Marissa, it is?” Hannibal finally asks mid-way through the meal just at the height of its pleasantness, when comfort finally begins to sit in.

“I knew you were a psychiatrist coming into this,” Marissa began. “You’re right. Of course you are.” She talks fast, her mind spinning as she thinks of what to say to him. But what else is there? There’s only the truth that’s been knowing at her, the constant words her mother tormented her with. _Abigail participated. Abigail participated. Abigail participated. _“Abigail was my best friend. I’ve thought about it for so long, after I heard about what her father did. All those missing girls in Minnesota, and who would think that the killer is so close to you? Just a walk through the wood. I’ve dined with them…” She pauses, mentally gagging at the thought of possibly having eaten one of the girls. She opens her mouth and closes it again. 

“Are you afraid that you’ve been fed those girls?” Hannibal asks, leaning in. He stared deeply into her eyes to feed off the despair. It satiates him as if any other meal would.

She gulps, her hands gripping her thigh as she nods. “Yeah. But not just that. Abigail was close to her father. Maybe even too close. And I want to believe that she had no part in it. I knew her. I know that she would never. But then I think that I knew her father, too. Maybe not intimately. But I never thought that he would do what he did. And so, then I question everything that I knew about Abigail. I can’t ask her now because she’s gone.”

“And you thought, because I’m a psychiatrist and I was on the case, that maybe I could tell you something that no one else could?” Hannibal finishes for her. He wishes that he could pity Marissa, but he finds her distasteful. She’s brash, mindless; after all she had come to his home without an invitation. Hannibal leans back into his chair and folds his arms across his chest. He looks in the distance, calculating for a moment before his tainted soul tells him how to respond. He licks his lips, nodding. “Yes, Abigail did. She didn’t kill anyone,” he pauses. “But she lured each and every one of those girls to her father. How could a middle-aged Alpha lure in young omega women? No, it was Abigail. Friendly, soft spoken. Do you think you were a target, too?”

“I don’t know anymore,” Marissa responds.

“Oh, but you do,” Hannibal replies, “Sitting in doubt is poison to the truth. We best not try and poison ourselves.”

“I’m a target,” Marissa breathes, her eyes wide.

Hannibal stands from the table, knife in hand from his meal and he takes her by the shirt. He picks her up from her seat and inserts the knife between the ribs cutting downwards. Her screams echo through the dining room, and he takes her body in his arms and carries her to the kitchen and through the secret entrance where he keeps his victims and places her on the surgical table in the middle of the room.

“It was lovely to have you over for dinner,” Hannibal tells her. She’s still alive, but barely. He takes these moments to remove a select few organs, sans anesthesia, and place them in the medical tray next to the table. He works swiftly but precisely. The last organ he removes is the one that kills her—the lungs. He takes her body and places it whole in a freezer bag that he carefully removes all the air from. He leaves her body there, so that he may arrange her later. He knows just how. 

****

Two days later, Will sits across from Hannibal in his practice. The room feels as if its spinning. The omega inside of him cries out for its alpha. _“I missed you,”_ it breathes into his ear.

“You haven’t returned my calls,” Hannibal tells Will. In subjects like these, Hannibal prefers to be direct. He doesn’t want ambiguity to lead Will into believing that he’s unwanted. This is contrary to what Hannibal needs. He needs Will at his side, completely.

“I didn’t know what to say to you,” Will replies.

“About what?” Hannibal takes a sip of his wine.

Will stands from his chair and walks around the room. He looks at the books, silently admiring their old but well-kept pages. “I keep seeing, things. When I’m awake. When I dream. When I was there in the hospital with Stammets. It’s usually Hobbs.”

“When you shot Eldon Stammets… Who was it that you saw?”

“I didn’t see Hobbs,” Will replies. He’s on the defense. He’s telling Hannibal too much.

“Then it’s not Hobbs’ ghost that’s haunting you, is it? It’s the inevitability of there being a man so bad that killing him felt good.” Hannibal thrives in this conversation. The words just flow from his lips as if they’d already been pre-written. This is where Hannibal wants to be with Will; in this dark, fragile place where he can mold Will.

“Killing Hobbs felt just,” Will replies harshly. But he’s harsh to himself—he’s almost disgusted.

“Which is why you’re here,” Hannibal responds. “To prove that spring of zest you feel is from the act of doing justice.”

“ I didn’t feel a sprig of zest when I shot Eldon Stammets.”

“Did you mean to kill Eldon Stammets?” Hannibal asks him.

“I thought about killing him. I’m still not entirely sure that wasn’t my intention pulling the trigger.”

“If your intention was to kill him, it’s because you understand why he did the things he did. It’s beautiful in its own way. Giving voice to the unmentionable.”

Will laughs joylessly, “I should have stuck to fixing boat motors in Louisiana.”

“A boat engine is a machine. A predictable problem, easy to solve. You fail, there’s a paddle. Where was your paddle with Hobbs?” No, a derailment. Hannibal must keep them on track.

“You’re supposed to be my paddle.”

_“In more ways than one,” _Hannibal thinks to himself. “I am. It wasn’t the act of killing Hobbs that got you down, was it? Did you really feel so bad because killing him felt so good?” Ah, divine. This is the question that Hannibal wants answered, though he feels that he already knows its answer.

“I liked killing Hobbs.”

His mate had never looked so diving before, those words coming from his delicate lips angelically. “Killing must feel good to God, too. He doe sit all the time, and are we not created in his image?”

“Depends on who you ask,” Will replies. The conversation is interesting to Will, too. He has to admit. He loves this back and forth as much as Hannibal does. He feels a wetness between his thighs.

“God’s terrific. He dropped a church roof on thirty-four of his worshipers last Wednesday night in Texas, while they sang a hymn.”

“Did God feel good about that?” Will replies, his brows furrowing.

“He felt powerful,” Hannibal responds, feeling a to be a god, too.

Hannibal looks away from Will then, a brief pause to contemplate how to transition. “Is this why you haven’t responded?” he finally settles on.

“There’s more,” Will responds, placing a hand over his belly. There’s no visible curve yet. “I’m pregnant,” he finishes.


	5. Surrealism

Surrealism

_“I’m pregnant,”_ Will’s voice echoes in Hannibal’s ears. Hannibal holds his breath for a moment, taken aback. All of a sudden, the sweet, decadent smell like orange chocolate wafting through the room makes sense to Hannibal. The ashamed look in Will’s eyes, apart from the moral dread Will feels over Hobbs and Stammets, that look makes sense to Hannibal.

It had been several weeks since Will’s last heat, and Hannibal knew there was a chance. Perhaps even more than a chance—they hadn’t used protection. Hannibal knew in the pit of his stomach that the alpha inside of him wants pups, perhaps even more than anything else. They would secure a legacy for him. He could teach them about the arts, music, and more importantly his philosophy. Before meeting Will he had a vague image of a deft omega, one that didn’t ask too many questions and was happy with the illusion of normalcy he would provide, who would carry his pups. And perhaps, he would kill this omega after their pups reached a certain age—this kind of omega would bore Hannibal to no end, after all. But then Hannibal met Will, and his hurt string tugged at him. Hannibal met Will, and he knew that standing before him was his soul mate so perfectly placed in existence. His heart flutters at the thought—it’s almost a pain in his chest. He’d never felt this feeling before for another human. It was delightful, but terrifying.

He imagines their blue-eyed child with sandy curls and defined cheekbones wrapped up snuggly in a soft blanket. He imagines Will round with his pup and beautiful in his arms, their child playing with toys on the carpet next to their legs. It’s a happy scene, one that truly touches Hannibal. Had he ever thought he could feel this way? Hannibal knew the answer for a long time had been no, but after meeting Will everything had changed.

Before him, Will begins to crumble at the silence. Hannibal’s blank gaze doesn’t allow Will to intuit, to feel what Hannibal is feeling. His sense of empathy is drawing a blank, and he worries. _“Let me in,”_ Will pleads to Hannibal with his watery blue eyes. And so, Will walks closer to Hannibal to gaze in those deep chocolate eyes for a glimmer of emotion.

And then, once Will is close, Hannibal pulls Will into his lap and hold him tightly. “You might possibly be the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” Hannibal tells Will. He places his lips over Will’s and bring him in for a passionate kiss, but Will pulls away after a few moments.

His head is spinning, and even though Hannibal is overjoyed, Will feels astonishingly guilty. His guilt gnaws away at his nerves; perhaps if Hannibal hadn’t been happy it would have been easier to admit to Hannibal. And all of a sudden, Will realizes that he wanted Hannibal to feel terrified too.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Hannibal,” Will tells him. His voice is blank, dead. He’s almost devoid of emotion and cold.

Before him, Hannibal sees his world shatter. Pieces of glass lie at his feet, and he’s left in a cold dark room. It’s the one he’s grown accustomed to in his mind palace. He realizes from the look in Will’s eyes that Will is unsure if he wants this family, if he wants a bond like this. If he could, perhaps he even wishes to take it back. Will never wanted this. Hannibal came into his life unexpectedly. He was even an unwelcome feature in Will’s life, but their inevitability trumped Will’s fears for a time. As their bond settled, Will returned to his mind. Will returned to his goals and wants and determined that this is the opposite of how he imagined his life would be. He was uncomfortable.

Hannibal leans back in his chair, placing his hand into Will’s. “What are we going to do?” Hannibal asks him.

“I don’t know.” The three words fall like bricks on the floor.

“Would you get rid of it?” Hannibal asks him, “I can’t stop you.” He finishes. Hannibal’s heart aches, and yet he knows that he does not have complete control of Will. And perhaps, he doesn’t want control over Will. He wants Will’s active choice to be by Hannibal’s side in everything. And so, Hannibal gives Will this choice.

He shakes his head, “No, I can’t. I’ve thought about it and I can’t. But I don’t know if I can do this with you. I think you would be better at it, but I’m not made for this. I was supposed to fly under the radar and keep the beta impression I had maintained for decades. And now? Who am I?”

“You’re Will Graham, exactly as you should be,” Hannibal responds. “It’s freeing to be who you are rather than who you are not. I’m sorry you don’t see it this way.”

“How is being an Omega freeing?” Will responds. “You don’t have to carry a child for nine months. You don’t have to risk your career and position in the FBI.”

Hannibal breathes out, and watches Will. He’s shaking, staring blankly at the floor. Avoiding eye contact—it would be too difficult to see Hannibal’s eyes now. “I’ve decided that it’s better if we carry on as we had before we’ve bonded. I’ll live my life, and you will live yours. I’ll carry our child and give you sole custody of him or her once it’s born.”

“Is this really what you want?” Hannibal asks Will. He hears the image of the future shatter in his mind palace and crumble.

Will stands from Hannibal’s lap and nods. “I’m sorry,” he manages to say. Before he leaves Hannibal in the office. The door shuts heavily.

The room shrinks around Hannibal, who stands from his chair and pulls out a pocketbook of names. He sifts through the names and finds one he had written down several years ago, address neatly written underneath. He leaves the room, his suit perfectly sitting against his skin unwrinkled. He smooths his hair as he leaves. He would be making a roast tonight, paired with a semi-dry red wine from Bordeaux. He will play Mozart's Requiem tonight as he cooks. It's all entirely fitting for the grief. And tomorrow, he would begin his effort to make Will see. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. :'(


	6. Symbolism

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy. :)

Symbolism

Their next case brings Will back to Minnesota. Marissa Schurr is reported missing; she lives near the Hobb’s home and was Abigail’s closest friend. It’s been well over a week, and Will knows that the chances of finding her alive are slim. And yet, like a haunting, the memory of the Shrike’s nest does not fade. And so, he doesn’t reject the case and agrees to return to Minnesota. It might be the pregnancy, that makes him more sensitive, but his heart aches more than it would normally. He thinks of how the events might have unfolded if Abigail had survived; perhaps her friend wouldn’t be dead now. He feels responsible, somehow, for the popularity of Garret Jacob Hobbs. It became a sensation almost overnight—the Minnesota Shrike a popular killer. He was the profiler on the case, and any name attached to his instantly rose to fame. Perhaps the case would have landed flat had Will not taken it on. But Will cannot focus on what-ifs. 

Out of responsibility and a sense of duty, Will agrees to return to Minnesota. When he agrees, he doesn’t expect that Jack would ask Dr. Lecter to tag along. A second profiler, a fresh set of eyes to look at the crime. Will wants to protest that it’s because Jack has discovered that he’s an omega, though Will knows that it isn’t wholly true. Perhaps it’s wicked fate that has Hannibal floating in his orbit, a constant reminder of what they are to each other.

Hannibal meets them at the cabin, having flown in earlier than they had. Will is thankful for this; perhaps it was Hannibal respecting his wish for distance. But when he sees Hannibal, standing in front of the cabin, his inner omega calls out for Hannibal. It’s the smallest whimper, one he wishes that he could have suppressed. It’s involuntary, but speaks a truth that Will refuses to recognize. With each passing day he misses Hannibal more.

Jack turns to Will then, before they enter the home, “Will, if you can’t go in there, you don’t have to. Not unless it’s necessary. It’s just a stone we have to turn before we continue to look for her. The locals said she visited the Hobbs cabin multiple times before her disappearance. It doesn’t mean that we’ll find her here.”

Will shakes his head, almost insulted by the comment. Jack cared, but he cared in the wrong way. Jack saw him as a teacup that would shatter if put in the wrong places. “No, Jack. I have to go in.”

“I might agree with Will,” Hannibal interjects, “Re-visiting this place might be therapeutic for him, even. Perhaps he will be able to forget Hobbs once and for all.”

Will almost hates that Hannibal agrees with him. He’s not sure if Hannibal is speaking the truth or if it’s because Hannibal is trying to manipulate him into speaking with him in a non-professional capacity. Will leans towards the latter, but he won’t bring it up unless it becomes an issue. “Thank you,” he mutters instead.

When they enter the cabin, Will’s senses are immediately overwhelmed. He sees the ghost of Garrett Jacob Hobbs in the kitchen, on the floor. It speaks to him in a chilly voice, “See?” A simple word, tainted. 

Will begins to disassociate in response, losing his place in the cabin. He walks through, but his mind is elsewhere, guided by the stag. The hoofs beat against the parquet floor.

Hannibal watches Will from behind, but he notices a change in him. He places a hand on Will’s back lightly, a test. But Will doesn’t respond to the feeling. He bites his lip, realizing that something is not quite right. _“Does he see the stag?” _The alpha inside of him wants to protect Will, to soothe his distressed mate. But he shoves this feeling down. This is what Will needs now; a trigger. Perhaps something that would bring him closer to Hannibal.

The first floor of the cabin is clear, and so the move to the attic. There are antlers across the entirety of the attic, beautifully polished. They were made to be mounted and revered. It’s when they turn away from the worktable that they see her, her naked body splayed out for all onlookers to behold. Her blood drips from the wounds of the antlers which impale her torso. Oddly, she’s almost beautiful like this in death.

Will snaps back into reality when the stag walks into the wall through Marissa Schur and disappears. The pendulum swings, the sound echoing in his head.

“_I won’t let you forget,” the voice begins. “You cannot forget.” It takes Marissa’s perfectly preserved body through the cabin, hauling her gently. This is not done out of respect, but rather out of vision. She must not have a single mark on her porcelain skin. She must become a sculpture, a thing of beauty so others admire its creator._

_ “I’ll place her here for you to find, Will,” the voice finally says. _

The pendulum returns him to Jack and Hannibal. Hannibal’s face is stoic, not showing an ounce of emotion beyond his glassy eyes.

Jack however watches Will intently, “What do you see?”

He lifts his hand, pointing it at Marissa. “Whoever left this, left it for me. It’s the copycat. The same one who left Cassie Boyle for us.” Will is shaking as he finishes speaking.

Inside, Hannibal is smiling at Will. He’s quite clever, more so than he’d ever imagined. He loves watching him as he sees, listening to his analysis. _“But Will, do you know it’s me?” _Hannibal asks in his mind.

*****

Will walks past the motel in his pajamas. He’s barefoot, and the pain of the rocks against his heels don’t bother him. He’s solely focused on the stag in front of him. “Where are you taking me?” Will yells after it. “Why are you here?” The stag is silent and keeps walking.

Suddenly, Will can’t walk anymore. He’s stopped by something invisible in front of him. The stag slowly disappears into the wind. “NO!” he calls out.

Hannibal stands in front of him, his hands clutching Will’s arms. “You were sleep walking. I found you out here; you’re almost a mile away from the motel.”

Will shakes his head. “Why are you here?”

“I was talking a walk. Psychiatrists need to clear their heads sometimes, too.” Hannibal looks into Will’s eyes, melting into their beautiful blue depths. “Are you alright?”

“I don’t need this from you,” Will responds harshly. “I don’t want this.” He tugs himself away from Hannibal.

“I can be concerned as your psychiatrist, can I not?” Hannibal counters.

Will stops then, “You were never my psychiatrist.”

“Then as your friend,” Hannibal offers.

Will wants to say, _“We can’t be friends,” _but his inner omega stops him. Friends had once been too lose a term. “I need to go back to my room,” Will tells him.

“Let me walk with you, to make sure you get back safe.” They walk side by side, six inches apart. Hannibal deliberately leaves this space between them. But Will inches closer as they walk back in silence. Hannibal smiles, knowing that all hope isn’t lost. Will places a hand on his stomach, reminded by Hannibal’s presence of the being that they created.

Once they reach his room, Will’s hand is hesitant on the doorknob. “Are you angry with me?” Will finally asks Hannibal.

“I could never be angry with you,” Hannibal responds. He places a hand on the small of Will’s back, but Will flinches underneath it.

“I’m sorry, I should go back to bed.” But Will doesn’t move even then.

It’s Hannibal who leaves. He leaves Will frozen in front of the door, yearning. If Hannibal gave too much then, it would ruin his plan. He instead leaves a seed for Will to cling on to. Will turns around, watching Hannibal walk off.


	7. De Stijl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follows the events of Oeuf.

De Stijl

The next case hits too close to home for Will. If he was being honest with himself, he probably should have told Jack to remove him from case completely. And yet, after hearing about it, he just couldn’t stop himself. The omega within him won’t allow it; it feels for the mother at the table, shot last after watching her family’s murder.

Will becomes increasingly detached after sitting at the table, after piecing together the pieces of the crime. At first, Will feels as if he killed that family. That feeling settles in Will’s heart for a while, but he doesn’t let it show. Despite this, Jack flashes a look at Will that lets Will know that Jack feels as if this crime may be too much for him. But Jack won’t dare take him off this case, not even when he sees Will disassociating as he leaves the home, alone.

Even though Will doesn’t want to be Dr. Lecter’s patient anymore, he finds himself drawn to the psychiatrist in this time. He would have missed their weekly meeting; after all, he had told him that even their patient-psychiatrist relationship had ended. But he goes to the office anyway, hoping that Hannibal hadn’t scheduled a patient in his timeslot.

Hannibal of course hadn’t. He wouldn’t let anyone take Will’s time; it would stay open should he ever want to just drop by. He’s pleasantly surprised that Will comes to him so soon after the incident in Minnesota. He sits opposite Will now, smiling warmly at him.

“Tell me about your mother,” he begins.

“That’s some lazy psychiatry, Dr. Lecter. Low hanging fruit.” Will laughs as he says it but is a defensive laugh. One that conveys Will is deflecting with a joke, rather than display his true emotions.

“I suspect that fruit is on a high branch, very difficult to reach,” Hannibal responds.

“So’s my mother. I never knew her.”

This makes sense to Hannibal completely, given that way Will’s been acting about their situation. “An interesting place to start,” he quips.

“Tell me about your mothers. Let’s start there. Quid pro quo.” Another tactic used by Will, one that changes the topic away from him. It’s easier for Will to focus on others than on himself.

“Both my parents died when I was very young. The proverbial orphan until I was adopted by my Uncle Robertas when I was 16,” Hannibal says plainly. It’s a very matter-of-fact situation, one that hasn’t troubled Hannibal for a while. He’d almost forgotten, having become so immersed in the present. It’s easy to let yourself believe you’ve forgotten bits of an unsavory past. Hannibal pauses for a moment. “Quid pro quo.”

Will doesn’t want to return to talking about his mother; it’s a sore topic for him. He hadn’t known her; it was as simple as that. “There’s something so foreign about family. Like an ill-fitting suit. Never connected to the concept.” 

It’s astonishing to Hannibal how plainly he speaks. He wishes he could be impartial, but the words of family stir emotion inside of him. “You created a family for yourself,” Hannibal counters.

“I created a pack of strays.”

“I was referring to something else,” Hannibal says, but the words sit awkwardly in the air between the two men. The tension tugs at Hannibal’s heartstrings, and Will seems to not quite care. Hannibal knows this isn’t true, however. Hannibal knows that Will is hurting more than Will would like to be. And so, Hannibal switches topics because he senses that he must. He’ll mold the conversation through other means. “Tell me about the Turner Family. Were they affluent? Well to do?”

“They lived like they had money,” Will spits.

“Did you family have money, Will?”

“We were poor. I followed my father from the boat yards in Biloxi and Greenville to lake boats on Erie.” The topic of his father is noticeably lighter.

“Always the new boy at school? Always the stranger?”

“Yes.”

“Harboring a half-buried grudge against the right?” This question amuses Hannibal as he asks it.

“Are we all.”

“What grudge was Mrs. Turner’s killer harboring against her?” Hannibal wants to know desperately how Will wants to respond to this question. It’s not the word he wants to here, but the intonation and the look in Will’s eyes as he says it.

“Motherhood.” And as Will says it, his eyes become watery and his body tenses up.

“Not motherhood a perversion of it,” Hannibal finishes for him. They watch each other then. Hannibal waits for Will at first, but when Will doesn’t continue talking, Hannibal stands and moves to his desk. He pulls out a bottle of sparkling cider, something he had begun to keep there just in case Will would come. He pours two glasses. Handing one to Will, he resumes their conversation. “Has the case ignited something within you?” Hannibal prods.

Will shakes his head stubbornly. “I don’t think so.” Will leaves has cider barely touched and leaves the room without a goodbye.

Hannibal lets Will leave.

****

It’s not long before Will is back in Hannibal’s office. It’s not Will’s appointment time, and in a display of indifference, Hannibal makes Will wait in the sitting room while he finishes up with his patient. He must let Will feel as if he’s lost something, so he can long for a return to the past when he had Hannibal and Hannibal had him.

Hannibal notices the gift in the bag when Will storms in. He smiles, “Has Christmas come early? Or late?”

Will shakes off the memory of the scene, the family murdered in their decorated home and child burned in the fireplace. “It was for you,”

“Was?” Hannibal asks.

“Thought better of it. Wasn’t thinking clearly. I was upset when I bought it. Maybe still am.”

“You bare gifts when you’re angry?” Hannibal is satisfied that Will had bought a gift, and he’s even more satisfied by Will’s display of emotion. Whenever Will lets himself be vulnerable, Hannibal can claw his way into Will’s heart.

“Better gifts than teeth,” Will responds roughly.

“What is it?” Hannibal can’t help to ask.

“Magnifying glass. Fly tying gear.” Will pauses for a moment. “For your child.”

“Teaching him or her how to fish. You didn’t want to have anything to do with our child?” Hannibal finds the development interesting.

“That’s why I thought better of it.” Will looks away from Hannibal then, regretting having told him anything.

“Feeling paternal, Will?”

“Aren’t you?” He counters quickly.

“Yes. Tell me. Why were you so angry?”

“I’m angry about these boys. I’m angry cause I know when I find them, I can’t help them. I can’t give them back what they gave away.” Will becomes more emotional with every word, his face becoming contorted with pain. He struggles to face Hannibal as he says the words. He knows what Hannibal will say next; it echoes in his ears before he even hears the word.

“Family,” Hannibal finally finishes.

“Yes.” Will is ready to leave then, but his legs become cinderblocks.

“You’re giving away your family, too,” Hannibal begins.

Will shakes his head, biting his lip. “I’m unsuitable,” Will whispers. “I’m not meant to have a family.”

“Nothing proves that you’re unsuitable,” Hannibal replies, “You’re so busy running, that you haven’t looked back to see what you’re running from.”

“I know what I’m running from. You’ll still have a child, and you will do better to take care of it,” Will looks down at his feet as he says the words. “You don’t know what you’re running after.”

Hannibal steps towards Will and places his hands over Will’s arms, “But I do. I see so much in you, things you haven’t seen in yourself. But I do know one thing you see in yourself, and it’s that you have spent too much time alone. Isn’t this true?”

“I have my dogs at home, my life in Wolf Trap.”

“But does that fulfill you?” Hannibal asks Will, taking his chin so as to make Will look into his eyes.

“Whatever future family you have planned in your mind won’t fulfill me,” Will finally tells him.

“Our session is over then,” Hannibal finishes, letting Will go. Hannibal ponders if Will hadn't been pregnant, if he would have killed him. He isn't so sure. The answer at first had been different; he had fallen rather quickly for the man. If only Will hadn't been his true mate, Hannibal would have considered displaying Will beautifully for all to see. 

Hannibal waits for several days, after Will leaves his office for the second time. It's then that he goes into Will's home, ignoring the dogs running about. He does notice the old, untuned piano and can't help but play a few keys. He smiles to himself, wishing it had been tuned. He liked that Will had a piano in his home; it was something that connected them. Hannibal leaves his scent in Will's home, on his bed and desk, in the kitchen and bathroom, and most importantly on the couch where Will often sits to pet his dogs. Hannibal knows that Will would be reminded of his increasing loneliness. Moreover, Hannibal knows that Will would be angry with him. But in this time, when Will was desperate and Alana couldn't take care of his dogs when Will was yet again pulled out of town for this case, Hannibal had stepped up. How could he not mark his mate's home given the opportunity? After Hannibal leaves, he waits until their next meeting for Will's response. Or perhaps Will would purposely avoid mentioning it at all, at which point Hannibal would take it to mean that it had truly hurt Will. Had Hannibal been a normal alpha, he would never want to hurt his mate. But Hannibal is not a normal alpha, and so he understand that sometimes pain is necessary in order to push Will. Slowly, Hannibal would poke and push at Will until Will could see, too. 


	8. Der Blaue Reiter

Der Blaue Reiter

Will is shaken from his sleepwalking earlier that night. Every sound in his home is mistaken for the beat of a hoof; Will flinches at the creaking of his floorboards. As he gets dressed, Will notices the newly found curve of his belly, a bump distinctly forming. It feels odd, and yet, somewhere deep inside he’s elated to see it. With his heart racing and mind spinning, he decides—he needs to see Hannibal. He can’t help this instinct, though he would like to. His inner omega whispers to him, _“Hannibal. You need Hannibal,”_ over and over until Will cannot shake his thoughts from the man. It was the bond, neglected and needy. Early in the morning, Will drives out to Baltimore, his hands shaking against the steering wheel. When he reaches Hannibal’s door, he tells himself that he’s stupid. He’s stupid for coming here. He should leave, but he’s already rung the doorbell. It would be quite rude of him to leave, now.

Hannibal is surprised to see him at the door, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of him mate in the early morning. He wonders if he’s dreaming but realizes that no dream of his would ever bring him Will at 5am on his doorstep. He guides Will into the house, a polite and plain, “Good morning,” to welcome him.

Hannibal is in his bathrobe, contrasting Will who is fully clothed. Hannibal can tell that Will hadn’t slept the previous night, which worries him. In the kitchen, Hannibal begins to prepare coffee for Will.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” Will begins.

“And yet, here you are,” Hannibal counters. He hides his smile, though he is dangerously close to letting his amusement show. “So, what brings you to Baltimore so early in the morning?”

“I’ve been sleepwalking,” Will starts, but he doesn’t know where to take the sentence. He doesn’t want to tell Hannibal of the ravenstag or the time loss. Not yet, anyway.

“Although I may be, is it safe to assume you’re not sleepwalking now?” A joke, almost foreign on Hannibal’s lips.

“I’m sorry it’s so early,” Will apologizes.

“Never apologize for coming to me. Office hours are for patients. My kitchen is always open to friends.” Hannibal hands Will the coffee, hoping that it would be Will’s only cup of the day. Too much wouldn’t be good for their child, after all.

_Friends._ How strange the word seemed to Will. It was an ill-fitting suit. Will wonders what they are, maybe a business transaction? His inner omega recoils at the thought.

“Onset of sleepwalking in adulthood is less common than in children,” Hannibal continues, eye Will with concern.

“Could it be a seizure?”

Hannibal knows this is possible, but without other signs, he doesn’t want to worry will. “I’d argue good old-fashioned post traumatic stress. Jack Crawford has gotten your hands very dirty.” This is true, it could be from the recent killings, how beautifully Will had begun to blossom… This could very well be a side-effect of his flowering.

“Wasn’t forced back into the field,” Will replies gruffly. He’s on the defense immediately. No alpha should or would ever determine his career for him. Not even his accidental _mate._

“I wouldn’t say forced. Manipulated would be the word I’d choose,” Hannibal retorts.

Will realizes that Hannibal is manipulating him with words, too. “I can handle it,” Will concludes, wanting to end the conversation. Will rubs his hand over his stomach, feeling the bump. It’s quite strange. He wonders if Hannibal had noticed.

And Hannibal had, when they had entered the kitchen. He’d seen the slightest curve of Will’s abdomen and he’d thought that Will looked beautiful. In a moment of desperation and weakness, Will reaches out towards Hannibal. He knows he shouldn’t allow this; but he wants this interaction. Consequences be damned. He couldn’t help himself.

Will took Hannibal’s hand into his own and placed Hannibal’s hand over his lower stomach. Hannibal stroked it with his thumb in silence. The moment was tender, and Will held his breath—mulling. He should stop this now, continue on with their agreement as before. And yet, the bump had made it real. He couldn’t avoid the fact that a piece of Hannibal was growing inside of him.

“Have you given more thought to how you would like to handle our situation?” Hannibal asks Will. He realizes that this moment would perhaps derail his plans. But if he could have Will now, he would make Will see later. And he would see. It’s impulsive, Hannibal knows, but this is what he wants more than anything.

Will shakes his head, no. And this isn’t quite true. He’d thought a lot about the words he’d told Hannibal, about how he’d just give him the child once the nine months were over. The more he thought of them, the more the pit of his stomach filled with melancholy. “Over time our bond will grow weaker, until it breaks away. Like rust on an old chain…” Will starts.

“Is that what you want?” Hannibal asks him. “Do you really think it’s possible given the fact—”

“We’re not soulmates,” Will raises his voice, but bites his lip the moment the words fly out of his mouth. No, this is blatantly untrue. He looks at Hannibal, watching the man’s face twist with the ghost of anguish. It’s something only Will could have noticed. “We both know that’s not true,” Will whispers to him.

“We could try, Will. There is something between us, still burning strongly. Otherwise, why would you come to my kitchen so early in the morning? Couldn’t you have gone elsewhere?” Hannibal puts his hand on Will’s cheek.

Will knows everything that Hannibal is saying is true. He’s overwhelmed by how much he’s yearned for Hannibal’s touch, at how complete he feels this close from Hannibal. He contemplates running away, but he can’t. His legs wouldn’t allow him too. And so he sinks in to Hannibal, their lips touching. It’s delicate at first, but turns desperate and heated. Will is the one who deepens the kiss, nibbling at Hannibal’s bottom lip to gain entrance into his sweet mouth.

Hannibal melts into the taste of Will suffused with coffee. It’s sublime. They stay there, in the kitchen, exploring each other’s mouths. Hannibal had often thought about this feeling, the one that erupts through him like rapture now. He wonders if this is love.

Hannibal parts form Will, still cupping Will’s cheek in his hand. “Don’t say you’ll leave now,” Hannibal tells him.

“I—I,” Will begins, unsure. “I don’t know,” he finishes. “I have to think.”

“Then tell me that we’re no longer impossible,” Hannibal quickly replies. “We can always try, Will.”

Will nods, “We’re not impossible, Hannibal. I just need time.”


	9. Cubism

Cubism

Bars separate them; on one side Will and the other a short, portly man—Doctor Abel Gideon. Immediately, Will is disgusted by him. He’s impulsive, twitchy. He lacks a certain finesse; this is what gives him away immediately.

When he speaks, it’s not the voice that Will imagined would belong to the Chesapeake Ripper. Gideon is a square block trying to fit into a circular hole. He just doesn’t fit. His inner omega is saddened by this, insulted even. Will can’t quite place why he feels this way. He wants comfort; he wants to be away from this _imposter_.

“What’s this to be? I was caught red-handed. Literally. No mystery as two who done it. I did.” He’s gloating, or at least trying to. Abel Gideon isn’t sure of the words himself; he just wants them to fit.

“The mystery is whether you are who you say you are. Or not,” Will replies tersely.

Gideon is amused by this, a smile on his lips. “I never liked being called the Chesapeake Ripper. Maybe something a little more distinct. Any Ripper is going to pale in comparison to the infamous Jack of Whitechapel.”

“Is that why you didn’t take credit for the Ripper murders before now?” Will asks him.

“I was just enjoying the goose chase from the box seats.”

Will’s had enough, but he can’t justify leaving now to Jack. Jack would want Will to stay, feel out the murder and the doctor just a bit more. But Will doesn’t need to. It was clear that the Doctor had lost his identity and was trying to find a new one. But the Chesapeake Ripper was an ill-fitting suit on this man.

When they leave, Jack walks with Will out of the mental institution. Jack is silent at first, staring straight ahead. Jack walks Will to his car, leaving Alana behind. It’s then that Jack finally breaks the silence.

Will looks into the alpha’s eyes and he senses his anger, his frustration. “You must be quite happy with yourself, entering this place without scent blockers. I shouldn’t have let you in; there’s regulations against it.”

“But you did, Jack. Because you wanted to know my opinion. You wanted to know if I saw the Chesapeake Ripper in him. I don’t. It’s more than obvious—you must see it too!” Will is laughing, his palms out in front of him.

“The circumstances point to a different conclusion. Alana told me how Abel seemed to be aroused by you; he liked the challenge you posed to his claims. He liked that another omega was challenging him.”

Will turns from Jack, “The Ripper’s not an omega. He’s an alpha. If anything, I know that for sure. Don’t bring me here again Jack; I’ll just tell you the same thing again.”

“Will you do me a favor and just wear scent blockers next time? I don’t want to put you in any line of danger.”

“I am wearing scent blockers; they just don’t seem to work anymore,” Will tells Jack as he slams the car door and waits for Jack to step aside.

As Will drives onto the road, he settles a hand over his stomach. He thinks of its slight curve; he’s thankful no one else has noticed. Perhaps they’ve chocked it up as a slight weight gain for a man nearing middle age.

****

Will enters Hannibal’s office, at his usual time. He isn’t sure why they keep these appointments, but he can’t seem to find it in himself to not come. It would be rude, and Will didn’t want to be rude to Hannibal.

Will smells the wine on Hannibal when Hannibal ushers him in, his hand on the small of Will’s back. “Have you been drinking?”

“I had a glass of wine with my last appointment.”

Will is confused, perhaps even worried. “You drank with a patient?”

“She drank with a patient. I have an unconventional psychiatrist.”

Will laughs, “We have that in common.”

“Am I your psychiatrist or are we simply having conversations?” Hannibal doesn’t like the feel of the word psychiatrist from Will’s lips. Will is certainly not his patient.

“I’m your mate,” Will responds with a sigh. “So these are just conversations.”

“We do have a higher level of intimacy than the common Doctor Patient relationship. We have a child together.” Hannibal enjoys that he can talk to Will about this now, and yet he is afraid to push him.

“We shouldn’t talk about this now,” Will responds. He wants to take it slow. Let the dust settle.

“Chesapeake Ripper has struck again,” Hannibal changes the topic.

“It’s not the same guy,” Will counters.

“The victims were all brutalized. What was the brutalization hiding?”

“Careful, surgical removal and preservation of vital organs,” Will replies. He looks at Hannibal, watches the lines of his face. Any conclusion the come to about the Chesapeake Ripper seems wrong. Will’s omega grows more distressed as they continue to talk, reaching no real conclusion that Will wants to hold on to as the truth.

Hannibal notices and walks to Will. “Are you alright?”

Will shakes his head and runs to the trash can to empty the contents of his stomach. He laughs into the trash can. “All of this feels wrong,” Will begins. “None of this is the Ripper. I can’t place it.”

Hannibal sits on the floor and rubs Will’s back. He scents Will, calming him. He’s never been more proud of his omega, for being able to sift through the lies. He love show Will sees him; he can’t wait until Will puts the two, Ripper and Hannibal, together. Hannibal places a kiss on the back of Will’s head.

“Let me take you home. There’s no need for you to go back to Wolf Trap,”

“I need to feed the dogs,” Will responds. “I can call on a friend, maybe.” Will reaches into his pocket and dials Alana’s number. It rings a few times before he hears the sound of her voice.

“Can you do me a favor?”

Alana already knows it’s to feed his dogs; she’s done it before. On the other end of the phone she teases him, “I already passed by your classroom. You weren’t there. Why so late? Are you seeing anyone?”

Will bites his tongue. “You could say that.”

“Anyone I would know?” Alana responds. 

“I’ll um, ah, tell you about it later. Maybe tomorrow? Thanks for feeding the dogs, Alana.” Will hangs up the phone and turns to Hannibal.

“I promise I’ll make tonight well worth it,” Hannibal whispers into his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For more A/B/O Hannigram, check out a new fic I started: Deception.


	10. Op Art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry I've been gone for a while, with this fic at least. I wanted to write something I could stand by. I didn't want to give you guys any less, since this is my most popular fic to date. I'm still mega interested in finishing this fic, but I was off in Copenhagen for a while but now I'm home.  
No, unfortunately, I didn't get the pleasure of seeing Mads by chance in Copenhagen. I'm only a little *a lot* disappointed. But it was amazing! Definitely planning on going back there.  
For now, some bathtime and smut for Hannigram.

Op Art

Hannibal leads Will into the bathroom adjacent to the bedroom, setting a toothbrush and tooth paste next to the sink for him along with several soaps and shampoos. “I hope you’ll allow me the pleasure of making your bath,” Hannibal tells him sweetly.

Will nods hesitantly, laughing. “What about taking it slow?”

“Perhaps you deserve a nice bath. I’ve been told they’re quite relaxing.” Hannibal smiles. The joke seems a bit strange on his lips to Will. He’s used to verbal sparing with the doctor, a battle of the minds. Their jokes are dark and cruel, but intimate. The niceness is strange, but not unwelcome.

“I can’t argue with that,” Will replies.

“It’ll take me just a few minutes to fill up the tub. I think you’ll like it a bit warmer than most?”

Will smiles, “Good guess.”

He watches Hannibal fill up the tub, placing bath oils and bubble bath into the tub. The concoction he brews is intoxicating, vanilla and rose, but spice and tobacco as well. He stops the water and turns to Will. In the grandeur of the bathroom, dimly lit, Hannibal is breathtaking to Will. His cheekbones are highlighted in the light, sharp and alluring. His dark, molten eyes stare into Will’s soul and grip it tightly.

“Would you join me?” Will asks Hannibal. He can’t resist him in this moment. He feels insecure about the bump on his abdomen, about the life growing inside of him. He feels insecure about their relationship. But he is sure that in this moment he wants Hannibal in whatever way he is allowed to. In whatever way Hannibal will allow.

“Nothing would make me happier, darling.”

Moments later, they sit across each other in the tub. Hannibal rubs Will’s feet in the tub, expertly massaging the areas which ache the most. Will swore that he could die in that moment happily, with the tender care he was receiving. He knows that ordinarily the attention would be too much for him, but from Hannibal he can’t seem to get enough. His omega whispers to him, _“He’s the one for you.”_ Will wants to desperately cling onto those words, take them as true. He knows they are. He feels distrustful of Hannibal anyway; it’s in Will’s nature to feel this way.

Will feels sleepy in the heat of the water, and Hannibal notices his dropping eyelids. “Some sleep would be good. Humans do have to sleep—I hope you know. Even those named Will Graham.”

“If only I didn’t have to,” Will responds.

Hannibal stands from the tub, bubbles clinging to his skin. Will cannot pull his eyes from Hannibal’s naked body, perfectly sculpted. Strong, lean, perhaps a bit of softness on his tummy. But Will loved that about Hannibal. He imagined resting his head on Hannibal’s chest. His hands stroking down Hannibal’s abdomen until…

Will tells himself to shake his head, biting his tongue. “But I suppose you’re right.”

****

As Hannibal leads Will to the guest bedroom, Will becomes confused. This was not the path to Hannibal’s bedroom—they had just passed it. Will felt unsettled by this development, assuming that Hannibal had wanted to sleep next to Will.

Sensing his mate’s discomfort, Hannibal explains, placing a hand on the small of Will’s back. “I thought you would like some personal space.”

“You read that wrong, doctor,” Will teases him. He feels a tingle run down his spine, electric. After feeling so sick, Will wonders why now he feels so invigorated. Perhaps it was the aroma from the bath that livened his spirits. Maybe it was Hannibal himself.

Hannibal smiles. He so loved it when Will gave himself over to him willingly. Hannibal pulls Will into his arms then, kissing him passionately. Will melts into Hannibal’s kiss quickly, unbuttoning his vest with record speed. “Your alpha cock is all I can think about,” Will growls into Hannibal’s ear. “I want you pounding inside of me constantly. If possible, I would want you to put another pup inside of me,” Will admits, unashamed. He feels rowdy, wild—in tune with his Omega desires. He can’t deny them now; he’s like a fire with unlimited supply of oxygen.

They don’t make it to the bedroom as Will pushes Hannibal’s back against the hallway wall. “I want you on the floor. Strip for me, alpha.”

Hannibal laughs, a thrill running through his veins. “Whatever you say, daddy dearest.” Hannibal, naked, lies on the floor for Will, his thick alpha cock sticking up with arousal. “Do whatever you want to me,” Hannibal urges. “Fulfill your wildest desires.”

Will climbs on top of Hannibal, placing Hannibal’s cock into his aching hole. Hannibal takes Will’s smile omegan cock into his hand and begins stroking it as Will rocks into him, slowly. Will moans out in ecstasy, dipping his head back. “I want you to fill me like the cum slut I am,” Will commands. “I want your knot in me for hours, so I’m round with your cum.” Will starts pounding into Hannibal, skin against skin.

Hannibal pulls Will down to him, placing a rough kiss on Will’s cherry lips. “Whatever you say, darling.”

Hannibal rolls Will over onto his back and begins thrusting harder, and Will arches into him. “Hannibal—it’s so much,” Will groans out, overstimulated. It makes his vision blur as Hannibal takes his cock out of him, teasingly. “No, no. I need more.”

“Too much, now more—what is it you want? So demanding you are, my beauty.” Hannibal thrusts into Will hard, and Will in response bites down on Hannibal’s shoulder, drawing blood. He laps up the red beads hungrily, feeding off of Hannibal euphorically.

It’s then that Hannibal comes, his knot swelling larger than he’s used to. Will had tasted him, broken Hannibal’s skin—the thought lovely and dangerous. Hannibal wonders if Will could read anything from the taste of Hannibal—could Will know? He stares into the not so innocent eyes of his love, and he places a kiss on Will’s forehead. “I am the luckiest alpha in the world,” Hannibal tells him. 

They lie on the hallway floor facing each other. Hannibal places his hand on the slight roundness of Will’s belly and strokes it lovingly. “That’s our pup, growing inside of you.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier if I were the alpha and you the omega?” Will asks him jokingly.

Hannibal shakes his head. “You are such a perfect contradiction. Headstrong, independent, brilliant, ravishing, Omegan. I wouldn’t have you any other way than you are, at your core. I can only hope that you’ll let me see all of you, some day.” Hannibal tells Will, even though he’s seen the murderer hiding in Will’s eyes, begging for escape. Hannibal knows he’s there, waiting for the perfect partner. It’s only a matter of time before Will would know that Hannibal is his true mate in more ways than one.

Will’s eyes tear up, partly because of the hormones but also because he wants Hannibal’s words to be true. “I do love you,” Will tells him suddenly. “I can’t help it—as much as I want to fight it. It’s just there, in front of me constantly. Like a neon sign. I might not tell you again for a while. But right now, while I feel like I can, I wanted you to know—that I do—I do love you.” Will stumbles over the words, foreign on his lips. He’d never told them to anyone before and meant it.

“I love you too,” Hannibal replies. “More than you could ever know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter--back to the plot of season 1.


	11. Outsider Art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with another chapter. It's been a while. I'm absolutely swamped with schoolwork, but I'm trying my best. Hope you enjoy!

Outside Art

_ The Ripper resurrected, Will feels a longing ignite in the pit of his stomach. It gnaws at him in the middle of the night as Hannibal holds him, where Will finds himself exploring the untouched crevices of his mind, deep and dark and blacker than night. It begins slowly, the sense of understanding. Hannibal sometimes pries into these thoughts, forcing Will’s mind open with forceps and extracting delicious tidbits—Hannibal calls them promise. Will, on the other hand, calls them disturbed. _

_ The next crime is reminiscent of the ripper. A man in a bathtub, chest cavity cut open. Surgical trophies… The list goes on. It’s easy to see how someone like Brian Zeller could mistake the killer’s identity for the Ripper. But Will knows when he sees the body, the tone isn’t right. The intent is missing—the underlying message of disgust and disappointment that permeate ever Ripper murder. _

_ And in this way, Will is disappointed at this murder. He is disappointed that the Ripper hasn’t left him a gift, a puzzle to solve. His omega is left alone in the crime scene, lost. He wonders why he feels this way, if his empathy had sunk even to the depths of his secondary sex. He feels unsatisfied, like foreplay gone nowhere. _

_ Jack stares narrowly at Will, sniffing at the air. He knows then, in that moment. What Will is. He hadn’t expected this would happen—but it made sense, the change of his scent, the outbursts, the lack of concentration. He knew then that Will was pregnant, but was he willing to do anything about it? With the Ripper back, Jack was hesitant to let him go. _

_ Will pretends that he doesn’t notice the look in Jack’s eyes, pitying and chastising. Will instead chooses to adhere to Jack’s approach: Just say nothing. He sticks to analyzing the crime, insisting that it’s not the Ripper. He doesn’t speak to the connection he feels with the Ripper though, he cannot muster those words. _

_ “Are you sure?” Jack asks him, frustrated. _

_ “More or less.” _

_ “Why are you sure?” Jack fires back, as if he predicted the response. _

_ “The Ripper left a victim in a church pew using his tongue as a page marker in the Bible he was holding. This isn’t that.”_

_ He doesn’t say that he feels as if the Ripper’s skin and his own were the same in that moment. He doesn’t mention the Ravenstag which visited him in the bathroom, while Jack and everyone else were waiting outside. His head, aches. He feels almost insulted, for the Ripper. _

This is what Will thinks about when he goes to work, entering the lecture hall. The day passes without much going on. He shows slides to his students; some of them pay attention. The omegas ogle him for some time—they’re in training for strictly lab work. Nothing more. He understands why, as their eyes dart to the slightest curve of his stomach, their noses sniffing at the sweet scent in the air. They’re envious of him; he’s convinced there’s nothing to be envious about. He feels like a stranger in his own skin—should he have been born an alpha? And then, immediately, his mind darts to a statement, coming before him from nowhere: _The Ripper is an alpha. _And he feels right in this conclusion; not because of the profile, but because he feels as if even though he is with Hannibal, his alpha is the Ripper. He almost feels wrong about this, but his mind is stuck on the Ripper. Like a fly trapped on a sticky sweet-smelling pad, alluring and deceptive. Deadly. The slick almost trickles down his thighs as he thinks about it… Mind wandering.

He shakes his head, looking to his class, “I’m sorry but I believe we’ll have to end a bit early today,” he manages. The omegas watch him concernedly but flashes them an annoyed look: Leave me alone.

****

7:00 comes like a death knoll, half an hour passed Will’s appointment time. He looks at the appointment book, an unofficial appointment set with a very official time. Hannibal finds his office suffocating, setting his pen down. He wonders why Will isn’t here. His alpha brain tells him that something must be wrong. While he tries to give Will some independence, he finds it difficult to do so now.

****

“Will?” Hannibal calls out, finding Will staring out blankly into nothingness. He doesn’t flinch at his name, not at first. He comes to reality slowly, dazed. Hannibal continues, “I have a 24-hour cancellation policy.”

Will squints, “What time is it?”

“Nearly 8 o’clock,” Hannibal tells him. He watches Will carefully, monitoring his reactions.

“I’m sorry.” And Will is, but moreover, he feels upset by his loss of time.

“No apology necessary.”

“I must have fallen asleep. Was I sleepwalking?” But Will knows where he was, where his mind had wandered… Into the Ripper’s desires. But it didn’t feel as if he had entered the Ripper’s mind; rather, it felt as if the Ripper had gained entrance into him, poking at his brain, claiming him in a way. Will felt marked, almost.

“You weren’t present. Your eyes were open, staring into middle-distance.” Hannibal believes it’s the hormones, at first. Perhaps the early pregnancy was disorienting Will, giving him sleepless nights.

“I felt like I was asleep. I need to stop sleeping altogether. Best way to avoid bad dreams.”

Hannibal shakes his head, looking at the photos on Will’s desk. “I can see why you have bad dreams.”

“What do you see, Doctor?” Will truly wonders if Hannibal understands too. If Hannibal can see the Ripper as he can. Are the pictures the Ripper, he wants to ask Hannibal? He wants to feel as if he’s not the only one connected to the Ripper—to prove that he’s not losing himself to other thoughts.

“Sum up the Ripper in so many words? Words are living things. They have personality, point of view, agenda.”

“They’re pack hunters,” Will continues, but this is wrong. He wants to know if Hannibal will counter.

“Displaying one’s enemy after death has its appeal in many cultures.” Hannibal offers, a mistruth.

“These aren’t the Ripper’s enemies. These are pests he’s swatted.”

Hannibal smiles at this observation; Will had understood Hannibal’s purpose. “The reward for their cruelty?”

“He’s not bothered by cruelty. The reward is for undignified behavior. These dissections are to disgrace them. It’s a public shaming.” Hannibal would take Will into his arms now if he could and place a kiss on to his lips. He would worship Will, taste every piece of him on his lips.

As Will and Hannibal finish their conversation, Will becomes more aroused as they speak of the Ripper. He wants to tell Hannibal he feels wrong, that he’s misled him—how could they be true mates if Will fantasized about a murderer? They talk on, but Jack interrupts them.

Jack storms in the room, surprised. “Dr. Lecter. What a nice surprise. We have a lead on the Ripper. Care to help us catch the Ripper?”

“How could I refuse?” Hannibal replies wryly.

****

The FBI cars arrive in the ambulance lot, Jack rushing out with his gun. Will and Hannibal follow behind, Hannibal paying mind to every movement. The process enlightens him, showing him what to be cautious of if he’s ever in a sticky situation.

The ambulance door is opened, revealing a patient mid surgery. Jack shouts, “Show me your hands!”

Silvestri replies, conflicted, “He’ll die.”

“Dr. Lecter,” Jack calls out.

“He was removing the kidney. Poorly. I can re-attach it.”

Jack nods, “Do it.”

As Hannibal begins working, Will stands beside Hannibal, watching him. Hannibal’s hands become covered in blood, working expertly on the man’s kidney.

“Do you have it?” Jack asks then, interrupting Will’s focus.

“I’ve got it.” Hannibal responds calmly.

The events behind Hannibal and Will are lost on Will. He is solely focused on Hannibal working, his omega telling him this is the one. This is who Will loves, adores, understands. As Hannibal’s arms become covered in blood, Will understands in the pit of his stomach who he stands next to. He watches the sweat form on Hannibal’s brow, his hair sticking to his forehead. He never knew this is what the Ripper would look like as he worked. Will had never seen anything more beautiful.

****

Will stands watching the centrifuge spin in Hannibal’s kitchen. The kitchen looks smaller now than it had before.

Hannibal smiles as he watches Will’s curiosity. “I have a butcher who carries sow’s blood. Centrifugate, separate the matter from the water. Creates a transparent liquid. Serve with tomatoes in suspension. Everybody will love the sweet taste.” He pauses, “Are you sure you can’t stay?”

“I don’t think I’d be good company,” Will responds carefully. He’s conflicted now; he wonders if he’s hallucinating Hannibal as the Ripper. Had he gone too far that now his mate had turned into the very murderer he desires to catch? Will places a hand on his stomach, wondering if he’s carrying the Ripper’s child.

“I disagree. But before you go, what came of Mr. Silvestri’s donor?”

“You saved his life.”

“Been a long time since I used a scalpel on anything but a pencil.”

Will considers Hannibal’s background. It fit the Ripper’s profile; perhaps even better than most suspects they had encountered before. Hannibal was aloof, mysterious. He never let anyone in too much. Hannibal shows as much of himself as he needs to and no more. Hannibal shows more of himself to Will than he does to others, but Will knows that Hannibal hasn’t shown Will everything. He wonders if their status as true mates is an inconvenience to him.

“Why did you stop being a surgeon?” Will asks suddenly. 

“I killed someone. More accurately, I couldn’t save someone. But it felt like killing them.”

It was an admission, Will knew. He wouldn’t tell Hannibal that he understands the meaning behind his words. “You were an Emergency Room surgeon. It has to happen from time to time.”

“It happened one time too many. I transferred my passion for anatomy into the culinary arts. I fix minds instead of bodies and no one’s died as a result of my therapy.” Hannibal seems honest and would to anyone else.

“I should go. I’ve got a date with the Chesapeake Ripper.” It’s an irony, the words almost tripping up on Will’s tongue.

“Or is it Rippers?” Hannibal asks.

“Devon Silvestri was harvesting organs but not with the Chesapeake Ripper. No connection between them.”

“Jack must be devastated,” Hannibal concludes.

But it’s not Jack who is devasted; it’s Will. As he looks into the eyes of his mate, into the brown eyes he once found happiness, all he sees is a great pool of black threatening to drown him. And Will wonders if he could bare to fight it, or let himself drown.


	12. Renaissance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will gives himself space away from Hannibal in order to think. In that time, his hallucinations worsen and he leans on Alana Bloom for assistance.

Hannibal becomes busy with patients. One patient in particular, a Mr. Franklyn Froideveaux. The simpering omega is a handful, and while Hannibal must admit Franklyn isn’t particularly rude, he finds him at least somewhat off-putting. It isn’t because of the neuroses or the constant crying. It is the obsession that Franklyn develops for Hannibal with each passing session that repulses him. Hannibal would like to end the sessions, but he is curious how far Franklyn would push himself in an attempt to squeeze into the cracks of Hannibal’s life. It’s during this time, in the mix of Tobias Budge of Franklyn Froideveaux, that Hannibal and Will simply see just a little bit less of each other.

Will doesn’t worry during this time what Hannibal thinks or why they seem to be maintaining some distance. In fact, Will’s thankful for it. It gives him time to mull over the recent knowledge he’s acquired. It allows him to decide whether to call Jack or to confess to Hannibal what he knows. Sometimes, it's easier to not think. It's impossible at night when the wendigo and ravenstag visit him. It's even more impossible when he looks through the pictures on his phone and spies one of Hannibal he'd taken in secret one night. He shouldn't gravitate towards it, he chastises himself. But he can't help but miss Hannibal. When the baby inside of him begins to stir, he feels tempted to call Hannibal and tell him about its first kick. He doesn't. Instead, he focuses on nurturing his dogs whenever a stray forgiveness escapes from Will. He sighs nightly, feeling the baby move under his hand. Hannibal doesn't call him, though he wishes he would. 

In the meantime, there’s a pesky raccoon stuck somewhere in Will’s home. It just won’t stop making sounds. Will wants to cover his ears, scream out. Alana had already helped him look once. A beta, Alana is unusually protective over Will. Naturally, she comes around a second time, the conversation about dating still spinning in her mind. She wonders if Will had thought of it that way, pushing the boundaries of their friendship.

When she arrives to check up on Will a second time, he’s in his house removing bricks from above the fireplace. She watches Will with concern, knowing that there’s no animals. She wonders what flustering him now. In times of extreme stress, it’s not uncommon to hear things that aren’t there. Even so, she helps to put a brick back in its place.

Will realizes she knows, sensing the concern radiating off of her. “You avoided being in a room alone with me, essentially, since I met you. You were smooth about it, too,” he tells her awkwardly, avoiding the subject at hand.

“Evidently not smooth enough,” Alana responds.

“Now you’re making house calls.”

“It’s just a drive-by. On my way home. Since you’re not my patient.”

Will isn’t sure why he feels the way he does, but a sense of need boils up inside of him. He feels drawn to her, her comfort soothing to his distress. “No, I’m not,” he husks before leaning in and pressing a kiss on her lips. She leans in, returning the kiss. The kiss deepens for the barest second before she pulls away from him.

Will takes a step back, opening his mouth just barely. “I don’t know why I did that,” Will blurts out, angry at himself. “I’m so sorry. That was out of line.”

“I’m glad we agree,” Alana laughs. “Weren’t you seeing someone?”

“We hit a rough patch…” Will trails off, looking at the wall. “I hit a rough patch.”

Alana goes into Will’s kitchen then, treating herself a beer that’s sitting untouched in his fridge. It gives them both a moment to breathe before she turns back and smiles at him sympathetically. “We could talk about it, you know?”

“It would be a conflict of interest for you,” Will responds, dragging his hands over his face. His heart thumps with guilt.

“Professional or personal?”

“Perhaps both,” Will responds nervously, going into the kitchen to grab a Sprite in order to settle his stomach. He feels particularly uneasy, the morning sickness getting to him. He knows Alana as a beta can’t smell it on him, and he keeps the bump fairly well hid underneath his clothes. He wonders if he should tell her, and outright confess that he’s been seeing Hannibal who’s been perceived as his psychiatrist unofficially. Alana would be livid.

Alana furrows her brow, mouth opening in awe. “Have you been seeing Hannibal?” she asks then, the pieces coming together slowly in her head. It would make sense, the looks Hannibal throws at Will when he believes no one is watching. He’s been unusually protective of Will as of late. “The way you are and the way he is…” Alana struggles to form words.

“We’re incompatible?” Will suggests. “I wouldn’t disagree. He’s not who I would have chosen for myself if I had a choice,” Will states plainly before taking a sip of his Sprite.

“You can’t be saying Hannibal forced you into this,” Alana counters. “He would never.”

“I’m an omega, Alana. Hannibal’s my true mate. Funny how the world works. Maybe God’s just writing a bunch of jokes to keep himself entertained.”

“Does Jack know about this?” Alana asks incredulously.

“Bits and pieces. He had to, after we mated and… I suppose one of the sticking points is that I’m pregnant. I’ve wanted to tell someone for so long. And then I’m never able to. I feel so lost in this all.”

Alana sits down, staring at her feet. “How are you handling this all? It’s happened so quickly. You and Hannibal have known each other for only a few months.”

“My head’s constantly spinning,” Will tells her. “I think it’s better if you give me some space. I’m sorry, Alana. Goodbye.” Will rushes out of the house, leaving her there with the dogs.

****

Will rushes to Hannibal’s home, his head spinning. Hannibal opens the door, to his surprise finding Will. It’s been some time since they’ve seen each other, Will preferring space. He allows Will what he needs, drawing him in closer.

“I kissed Alana bloom,” Will blurts out as he takes of his coat.

“Come in,” Hannibal replies, nearly speechless. 

Hannibal leads Will into the room where he and Tobias had just dined, his mind still lingering on the conversation with the serial killer. The Alpha was threatened by him, Hannibal knew. Will’s scent had just entered the home, and he wonders if Tobias had caught a whiff of it.

Their dinner plates still on the table, food half eaten, Will wrinkles his face in confusion. Jealousy boils up within him, and he feels betrayed by Hannibal for a moment before realizing that he’s being irrational. He’d just kissed Alana Bloom, after all. “Did you have a guest?”

“A colleague. You just missed him,” Hannibal responds. “You kissed Alana Bloom.” 

“Yes. I know.”

“Wondering then why you kissed her and felt compelled to drive an hour in the snow to tell me about it,” Hannibal continues for Will.

“I felt guilty,” Will spits. “I go back and forth about us, and I feel guilty for it all,” he seethes. Will feels his head spinning and he takes a seat where Hannibal had just sat moments before. “I constantly feel so unhinged.” He pauses for a moment taking a breath. “I heard an animal trapped in my chimney. I broke through the wall to get it out. Didn’t find anything inside. Alana showed up. She looked at me, maybe her face changed, I don’t know. She knew”

“What did she know, Will?” Hannibal asks, listening intently. He wishes that anger would shower over him, but he can’t be angry at Will.

“There wasn’t an animal in the chimney. It was only in my head,” Will confesses.

“Did she say that?” Hannibal asks, his eyes softening.

“She didn’t have to. I sleep walk. I get headaches. I’m hearing things. I feel unstable,” Will admits, the words coming from his lips slowly.

“That’s why you kissed her. A clutch for balance…” Hannibal breathes in. “Which would mean that you find us unbalanced, too. You didn’t call me when you realized this all.” Hannibal pulls a chair across from Will and sits down. He takes Will’s hands into his own. “This isn’t convenient for you.”

Will wants to throw his hands around Hannibal’s neck and squeeze. He wants to shout at him for showing him compassion, despite being a killer. Hannibal has a depth of emotion that almost contradicts the brutality of the Chesapeake Ripper’s murders. Will believes this is why he hadn’t seen it before. Even so, the omega within him urges him to accept his mate as he comes. He couldn’t change Hannibal.

“I’m losing my balance,” Will tells him sincerely.

“You said yourself what you do is not good for you,” Hannibal counters.

“Unfortunately, I’m good for it,” Will shrugs. He couldn’t leave the field, not now while he was still able to provide help.

“Are you still hearing this killer’s serenade behind your eyes?”

Will nods, “It’s our song.”

“I hesitate telling you this as it borders on a violation of doctor-patient confidentiality. I’ve never been in this position before.” Hannibal pauses, thinking of how to continue. He deliberately adds gravity to his next words. “A patient told me today he suspects a friend of his may be involved with the murder at the symphony.”

“What did he say about his friend?” Will asks him, curious.

“He owns a music store in Baltimore, specializing in string instruments.”

“I’ll go tomorrow, then,” Will tells him.

“We have to talk about your imbalance,” Hannibal counters. 

“I can’t. Not right now,” Will tells him as he stands. “Tomorrow. I promise,” Will manages to say before leaving Hannibal in his seat, chest heavy. If Will weren't his true mate, he would rip out his neck for this. The rudeness on Will, instead, is like a sweet honey that Hannibal can't resist to dip his fingers into. 


	13. Romanticism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobias and Hannibal meet face to face.

Romanticism

Hannibal and Bedelia sit across from each other, the air still between them. The room is opposite of what they are, beige and plain. Within it, Bedelia and Hannibal are two predators stalking each other, carefully observing the others’ moves. They both know today neither will strike, but even so, they hold their guard in such a way that lets the other know they are impenetrable.

“This always goes better if I’m perfectly honest with you,” Bedelia begins.

“What would be the point otherwise.”

“Well one of us has to be honest.”

“I’m honest,” Hannibal counters. The words are plain, simple. He has nothing to hide.

“Not perfectly.”

“As honest as anyone.”

They continue on like that, communicating through passive aggressive banter. Hannibal enjoys Bedelia’s insights, her distrust of him. She is the only person he can trust to distrust him. In this way, she is valuable to him. Had he been attracted to the omega, perhaps he would have taken her to be by his side earlier. He’s happy instead with her friendship, and that refusing anything farther led him to Will eventually.

“I can still see the shape of you, but you’re elegantly obstructed. So really, it’s less of a person suit and more of a human veil.” Bedelia speaks in a cold tone, distancing herself from an intimate conversation with Hannibal. He will not draw it out of her.

“I prefer we call it a human shield.”

“That must be lonely.”

“I have Will,” Hannibal counters then, surprising even himself for letting the words slip from his mouth.

“Will?” She questions.

Hannibal inhales sharply, straitening his pants. “Yes. My mate.”

“That is a new development,” she states flatly, but shock overtakes her facial expression anyway. “Does Will know who you are?”

“He might suspect, or not. He’s been distant as of late… He works for Jack Crawford, the FBI.” Hannibal looks off in the distance as he speaks, wondering how much of himself he should reveal to her.

“Do you care for him?” She leans forward, forcing Hannibal’s gaze to return to her. She doesn’t require Hannibal’s response to know; his eyes normally cold and void of emotion soften. He lets a sliver of love escape to the surface. Her omega senses let her know that Hannibal had found his mate, perhaps even a true mate. He is annoyed with her, no longer wishing to play their game. He’s found another, someone more compatible. The split second of emotion in Hannibal’s eyes tell her this much. “I see…” she sighs. “Does having a mate inconvenience you?”

“I will not have you at my table yet, if that’s what you’re concerned about,” Hannibal switches the topic.

Knowing that the topic of Will would not continue, Bedelia stands. “Red or white?”

“I think something pink, don’t you?” Hannibal looks up at her, smiling.

****

The slip of his tongue, mentioning Will. It makes Hannibal’s head spin with a kind of protective urge. The pit of his stomach drops at the thought of sending Will to Tobias Budge. Will, his pregnant mate. Who he has come to adore, despite himself… Who he wishes to have my his side…

He pulls his cellphone out of his pocket, dialing Will’s number quickly.

“Hannibal?” Will answers on the other end.

“Don’t go to Tobias. Let anyone else go,” Hannibal urges him. “Please, just meet me at my office.”

“Alright,” Will manages to say. “I can be there in an hour.”

“Good, I’ll see you then.”

****

The time passes quickly for Will as he drives over to Hannibal’s home. He doesn’t have to explain to Jack why he’s not going—Jack already assumes that it’s the growing child within him that prevents him from visiting Budge personally. He lets Will off without so much as a scolding. He would urge Will to return to teaching exclusively, Will knew. How could he not? The pregnancy would interfere with every aspect of his life.

Will closes his eyes when he arrives in front of Hannibal’s office, breathing in deeply. He needs more time, to move past his disappointment. He doesn’t even think about the growing bump of his stomach; he seldom touches the flesh there. It’s easier to ignore. How could he focus on what he’s carrying—a monster’s child?

Hannibal opens the door before Will can knock, smiling when he sees him. “I shouldn’t have told you a thing,” Hannibal breathes as he takes Will into his arms, holding him tightly to his chest. “The thought of you risking your life—”

“We need to talk Hannibal,” Will interjects, pulling out of the hug.

“Doctor Lecter?” Franklyn’s voice cuts through the air.

Hannibal shakes his head. “I apologize Will. I had forgotten about my appointment.”

“You are not one to forget appointments,” Franklyn teases, inviting himself into the room. “And who is this?”

“My personal affairs are not the subject of our hour together,” Hannibal states professionally.

Franklyn looks to Hannibal and then to Will, spotting the bonding mark. “I thought you’d taken a mate,” Franklyn laughs. “How wonderful.” Tears begin to fall from the distressed omega’s eyes. His attachment to Hannibal is their cause, Hannibal knows this.

Despite his anger, Will feels a pang of jealousy invade his mind. He throws Hannibal a glare, though he knows he shouldn’t feel this way. It’s the pregnancy, bringing out certain qualities of himself that he doesn’t like to dwell on.

Hannibal shakes his head, “There’s no need to worry,” he whispers, as if reading Will’s thoughts.

“Your mate,” Franklyn laughs again.

“Mate?” Tobias’ voice interjects. “I knew from the scent in your home that you had a delicious little omega, Doctor. I rather hoped I would meet the both of you under different circumstances.” Tobias Budge is an omega, an unusual one at that. He eyes Hannibal with jealousy boiling over in his eyes.

“Tobias..?” Franklyn whimpers.

“I just came to say goodbye, Franklyn.”

“What do you mean, goodbye? Ohmygod. Is that your blood?” Franklyn backs away from the other three men, shaking.

“I just killed two men. The FBI came to question me about the murder.” Tobias takes a step forward towards Franklyn. “I wonder who it is that could have alerted them to my existence.”

“Franklyn, I want you to leave right now,” Hannibal commands.

“You’ve done something horrible and I know you wish to god you didn’t, but you did and there’s nothing you can do to change that. Only thing you can change is your future. You’re probably scared. Probably feel like you’re all alone.” The words come quickly from Franklyn’s mouth as he shakes, this time taking a step towards Tobias. He wants to rectify this, somehow save Tobias.

“I’m not alone,” Tobias sneers.

“That’s right. You’re not alone. Nothing has happened in our friendship that you and I can’t recover from.” Franklyn sounds delusional, simply because he believes his own words.

Hannibal looks towards Will and knows then that Will had figured him out. The rage in Will’s eyes is what lets him know; it’s why Will had been avoiding him lately. This is why he doesn’t hesitate then, snapping Franklyn’s neck without so much as a care.

At the same time, Tobias lunges at Will, tackling him onto the ground. Hannibal snarls, pushing Tobias off of Will. Will stands from the floor, watching the two men fight. Immediately protective of his mate, Will pulls the gun out of his holster and aims it at Tobias, but Hannibal throws Tobias way from Will’s aim. He won’t let Will have this kill, not in such an impersonal way.

Laughing, Tobias takes this moment to whip the piano wire from his sleeve and latch it onto Will’s arm, cutting through his skin. From behind, Hannibal takes Tobias’ arm and breaks it so that the tension of the piano string loosens.

With his good hand, Tobias throws a powerful punch at Hannibal who isn’t able to deflect it, choking up blood and staring at Will. Will places his hands around Tobias’ neck, cutting off his airways, but Tobias manages to push him off before collapsing onto his knees.

Hannibal retrieves the heavy metal statue of a stag from a pedestal and returns to Tobias, smashing it violently of Tobias’ skull. He places the stag next to Tobias’ head before returning to the pedestal to knock it over.

Will watches as Hannibal pants, bloody and exhausted. His inner omega purrs at the sight of his mate victorious from battle, and in spite of his confusion, Will brings himself to Hannibal, pushing Hannibal’s back against the wall as he nuzzles his head into Hannibal’s chest, scenting his mate.

“You are my Ripper,” Will tells him then, the words coming from his mouth involuntarily. Regardless, there is a truth to them that Will cannot deny. The sight of Hannibal fresh from a kill is breathtaking. He wants his mate then, more than he ever had before. He sees all of Hannibal, unguarded and raw. It is this Hannibal, without mystery and ambiguity, that Will finds himself unable to resist.

Hannibal places a hand on the back of Will’s head, pressing a kiss into Will’s forehead. “Do you not hate me?” he asks then, already knowing the answer.

“I spent so long looking for the Ripper for the wrong reasons,” Will tells him then. “No one else needs to know.” 

“You are perfection, my love.” Hannibal lets himself collapse into his mates arms, happily.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me on twitter @malipomfrit


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack comes to the crime scene in Hannibal's practice.

It takes time for Jack and his team to arrive to Hannibal’s home, nearly an hour. In that time, Hannibal takes Will to the chaise longue, wrapping his arms around his mate. He scents Will thoroughly, feeling the distress growing inside of Will. Will is away from Hannibal now, starring off into the distance. Hannibal allows Will this time to go wherever he need to go, to let his mind explore the deep caverns it’s left untouched for so long. Hannibal only strokes the gently curve of Will’s belly, their child growing inside of it. His omega is breathtaking like this, the scent of blood between them.

_Will walks through a long, forested path, alone. The length of it seems to be never ending, and yet when Will feels his legs grow tired, he sees a clearing between the trees. A ray of sunlight, nearly blinding. Will runs to it, huffing. _

_ He’s more pregnant now, than he is. His stomach fully round with his and Hannibal’s child; he looks like he’s nearly bursting with their pup. It’s then that he notices that he’s naked and coated in sticky, wet blood. _

_ He places his hands on his belly, feeling the kicking of his child beneath his fingertips. He isn’t afraid here, strangely. Calm resonates through his body, a gentle stream. He inhales the scent of the air, of death and decay bitter in it. But to Will it is a wonderous perfume, his mouth watering. _

_ In the vast empty field, stands Will. He wonders if he could stay here forever. When he opens his eyes, the wendigo meets him, inky black and completely still. Will reaches out towards it, his fingers still. Before he had feared seeing its form whenever he closed his eyes, but now the Wendigo feels familiar. It feels like a friend. Perhaps, a lover. _

_ The wendigo approaches Will slowly, placing a long and sharp fingered hand on Will’s cheek. It cuts Will with the tip of its finger, barely a papercut, just enough to draw blood. Black chasms meet Will’s eyes, as the Wendigo licks the blood off of its fingertips. It smiles, happy, a low grumble sounding from its throat. _

_ Will finds himself aroused by the sound, taking the Wendigo’s hand into his own and placing it back onto his cheek. The wendigo does not cut him this time, but instead strokes Will’s cheek softly. _

_ “Please,” Will begs it. _

_ The wendigo obliges, bending forward and placing its lips over Will’s. The taste of metallic blood meets Will’s lips, the wendigo places its tongue onto Will’s mouth. He finds himself melting into the Wendigo, shaking, as if he’s transforming. _

_ An eternity passes as they join together, Will’s skin turning from white to grey to black, until Will turns into the very same creature that kisses him. It’s only then that he knows who the wendigo has been all along, when he becomes him. The baby stops kicking, knowing its father is there. Will, the wendigo, stares into the soul of Hannibal Lecter, two lonely creatures now united._

When Will returns the present, it’s because of the jarring sound of Jack Crawford’s voice which elicits a growl from Will.

“Hush,” Hannibal soothes Will. “You’re okay. We’re ok.”

Jack shakes his head at Will, but more so at Hannibal. He is disappointed in Hannibal, who had promised Jack professionalism. He feels betrayed by his secrecy; he always expected Will to keep secrets—but Hannibal?

“Tobias Budge kills two Baltimore Police Officers, nearly kills an FBI Special Agent, and after all that his first stop is your office. Where both of my criminal profilers happen to be.”

“He came to kill my patient,” Hannibal counters, holding onto Will tighter.

“Hannibal’s patient told him he suspected a friend was involved with the murder at the symphony. Your patient. Is that who Tobias Budge was serenading?” Will fills in, nestling his head into Hannibal’s chest. He doesn’t care that Jack is there; Will is not ashamed. Will is where he should be, in Hannibal’s arms. This much, he is certain of.

“I don’t know. Franklyn knew more than he was telling me. He told Mr. Budge he didn’t have to kill anymore. Then he broke Franklyn’s neck. Then he attacked my mate, Will… Will is pregnant.” Hannibal places his hand over Will’s bump, demonstrating that he is the father. He wouldn’t let harm come either his mate or his child. “And then he attacked me.”

“And you killed him,” Jack finishes.

“Yes.”

“Could your patient’ve been involved with any of what Budge was doing?” Will asks, innocently. It’s an act, one he puts up solely for Hannibal’s sake.

“I thought this was a simple matter of poor choice in friends.”

Jack eyes Hannibal for a moment, stewing. In the corner of his eyes, he notices the two bodies of Budge and Franklyn being wheeled out. “This doesn’t feel simple.” Jack leaves them for now, conflicted.

Alone, Will takes Hannibal’s hand into his own. “Jack won’t trust you after this. You were hiding information from him.”

“Out of respect for you. I will explain it to Uncle Jack… You won’t have anything to worry about, mylimasis.” Hannibal presses a sweet, tentative kiss into Will’s forehead. “We have so much to talk about, once this all settles.”

Will nods wordlessly. It occurs to Will, now sure of who Hannibal is and that he wants to stay by his side, that the prospect of their child growing in his stomach is no longer so terrifying. Will imagines how it would look, with striking blue eyes and sandy hair. He imagines they would have a boy, first… First. Implying the prospect of more pups in the future. Will never imagined he would want this, to fulfill his purpose as an Omega. But for Hannibal, he would create a family. They would be whole. They would raise pups who would become formidable in adulthood. They would take this dark world and find their own vision of beauty within it. Together.

“I see you,” Will speaks to him then, his voice cracking.

The bustle of the FBI is behind them, but for a moment everything stops around them. The universe freezes and plucks them out of it, transporting them to a place where only they remain.

Will continues then, before Hannibal who is always so quick to reply can find words. “I love all of you. Now that I see you. It’s not the same is before. This is… I thought what I felt before was love. This is something otherworldly.”


	15. Performance Art

“Uncle Jack is distrusting of us,” Hannibal muses behind his book pages, sitting mere feet away from Will. It hadn’t taken long after the incident with Tobias Budge for Will to move his belongings to Hannibal Lecter’s home. It had been strange at first—the size of the home, their different routines. Will settles into it slowly, even now navigating through how different his life is.

_ Will, however, doesn’t listen to the words which Hannibal speaks. Instead, his gaze drifts to the other side of the room, staring at the fireplace, the antlers which sit above it. Will strokes his bump as the baby inside kicks, his mouth slightly agape because of the sight. _

_ Of Hannibal strung from the ceiling, his head just beneath the antlers, neck broken to the side. It is terrifying to see Hannibal so, to see him defeated and lifeless. Tears begin to well from Will’s eyes as he strokes his baby bump more intensely, letting out an omegan whine. Hannibal, hung from the ceiling, drops to the floor with a great thud. Will wants to cover his ears. _

Hannibal appears before Will, kneeling in front of him. His alpha instincts drive him to soothe his distressed mate, who he realizes isn’t with him. More and more, as of late, Will had begun to disappear into depths where Hannibal could not reach him. It worries him more with each passing day. “My darling, Will,” he whispers, placing his lips to Will’s bump and kissing it lovingly. “Come back to me.”

“Hannibal,” he sobs, lowering his gaze, the image at the fireplace no longer there. “You—you’re.”

“What did you see? I can’t help you if I don’t know what it is that you find behind the veil?”  
“I don’t know how to tell you…” Will’s voice trembles, fearing that Hannibal’s face would drain of life before his eyes.

“We must embrace are darker urges, always.”

“This isn’t an urge…” Will seethes, showing his teeth. He almost wants to laugh, bitter and hurt. “It’s—we need to leave.”

“To leave now would look suspicious. The FBI has only begun questioning us about the events with Tobias Budge and Franklyn Froideveux. Perhaps after the dust settles…” Hannibal takes Will’s hands into his and presses kisses onto his knuckles.

“What were you saying, before?”

“Jack doesn’t trust us.”

“So even you know. He can smell it on us, like a bloodhound. He had an inkling about me, before. A worry. Even you’re aware.” Will moves aside so that Hannibal can sit next to him.

“He believes I helped conceal the murder of my patient and his friend because you’re my mate, yes.”

“I will not have our child behind bars.”

“That is not my intention.”

Will inhales and then exhales, slow and hot air coming from his nostrils. “We made a flaw, hiding.”

“We cannot help that we are true mates.”

“We could help that you were acting as my psychiatrist.”

“In no official capacity.” Hannibal licks his lips, admittedly enjoying the tête-à-tête. 

“Jack is even less trusting because of that. We need to leave.”

“As I said—"

Will huffs in frustration, annoyed that Hannibal’s soft strokes on his round belly had gotten their pup to stop kicking. “We’re stuck.”

“Sisyphus rolling his boulder up the hill only to have to roll it back up again, for eternity. We always find ourselves at the same point.”

“We can’t run.”  
“Not now, no. But I assure you, Will—I will not let them take you from me.” Hannibal pauses, his eyes watering ever so slightly, “You avoided answering my original question. Is what you see so repulsive?”

“I see you dead whenever I close my eyes… At first it was a stag from the Hobbs murders, hallucinations in my own home. A creature, black and blood driven. They’re all gone. All that remains is you no longer breathing,” Will begins to cry again, tears prickling his cheeks. “I don’t want to close my eyes.”

Hannibal places a hand to Will’s cheek, caressing it lovingly. “An uncommon symptom of omegan male pregnancies is hallucinations induced by stress. Perhaps I’ve underestimated the pressure you’re under.”

“I feel as if I’m going insane,” Will chokes out.

“You aren’t insane, not in any way my love. But the stress is neither good for you nor our pup.” 

****

Alana sits across from Jack, her arms crossed over her chest. “You mean to pit me against a friend?” she asks, inhaling sharply.

“You said it yourself, you believe Will Graham to be unstable,” Jack counters, eyebrow raised. His leans forward in his chair, straightening his shoulders.

“I also trust Hannibal to make his own judgements. He would not be with Will if Will is unstable.”

“Have you heard of true mates, Alana?”

“Everyone has. It’s in all of the love stories. They seldom exist. Most of us live our lives without finding out true mate. Why?”

“If Hannibal and Will are true mates, which I am beginning to believe they are given the circumstances—perhaps Dr. Lecter’s judgement could be clouded.”

Alana inhales sharply, mulling the thought around her head. “Even so, I don’t believe that Will Graham is a killer. Neither is Hannibal Lecter.”

“They just killed two men!”

Alana stands from the desk, placing her fingers on it. She leans forward ever so slightly, lowering his gaze to Jack. “One of which is a serial killer who attacked them. The other was killed by this serial killer.”  
“I’m not sure that I believe their story. It’s convenient. Easy. Self defense. A serial killer happens to waltz into Hannibal’s practice.”

“You’re speculating. That’s all this is, Jack. Speculation.”

Jack stands now, leaning closer to Alana. His Alpha pheromones fill the room threateningly. “Will Graham is the Chesapeake Ripper, Alana. And we need to prove that.”

“I disagree, unless you find more evidence—that is _if_ you find more evidence, Jack. And I’m betting, you won’t find a thing. Will had plenty reason to hide. He is an omega in a profession that doesn’t allow omegas. He does not and never did want a mate, more particularly a mate who is a psychiatrist. Will Graham didn’t want to be pregnant. You need to understand Jack, if you dig too deeply in this, Will might be the one who gets hurt.”

“Or we might just save dozens of lives in finding out.”


	16. Les Nabis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Les Nabis, coming from the word prophet, nabi of Arabic. Will can feel the uncertainty of his future with Hannibal growing as Jack Crawford becomes increasingly suspicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating again because I feel bad for not regularly updating this fic. We're coming close to an end, I think. Several chapters more.

Hannibal sits across from Jack Crawford in his home, pouring them hot water from a floral teapot. He feels challenged by this alpha, resentment brewing in him. He wonders what Jack Crawford would taste like on his tongue. Would the meat be as bitter as Jack’s disposition? A smile forms on Hannibal’s lips, wry and chilling.

Jack grimaces, taking the tea cup in his large hand in sipping from it. The taste of earl grey coats his tongue, peppery and delicious. “A wonderful cup.”

“I always use loose tea, for the quality. A friend of mine cultivates black tea in the subtropical forests of India. He sent me a package just a few days ago…” Hannibal inhales. “Would you care for a cookie?” Hannibal pushes a plate of buttery cookies filled with red jam, “Kolaczki, homemade of course.”

Jack hesitantly removes one from its plate, taking a bite. “I’m here to discuss Will.”

“I’m aware. Don’t be so tense. I understand your concerns.”

“And what would those be, Doctor?”

“I ensure you that Will is entirely stable. Perhaps a bit more sensitive, given his current state, but well. The incident with Tobias Budge has put stress on him.”

Jack leans forward, placing the teacup on the table in front of them. “You haven’t been entirely truthful with me, about the events of that day.”

Hannibal maintains his composure, crossing his legs and leaning backwards ever so slightly. “When you came, I must admit, I’d forgotten to tell you. Before knowing Tobias Budge as the killer, he had come to my home to replace the strings of my harpsichord. I hadn’t made the association until much later when my patient, Mr. Froideveaux, had begun telling me about his friend. It was then that I notified Will of the possibility, which I must remind you is a breach of patient-doctor confidentiality.”

“Were you comfortable breaking it?”

“No, but I am glad that it means one less serial killer on the streets.”

Jack laughs, ironically. “You’re claiming implicitly because Mr. Budge came to change the strings of your harpsichord—which I must say is an awful coincidence—that he gained an interest in you.”

“Tobias Budge was an omega. I had the smell of omega in my home, given that I am with Will Graham. I thought he might be jealous… It was what he had said when he came, finally, to take care of Franklyn and at the same time get rid of my mate.”

Jack grinds his teeth, starring at his black leather shoes, the faintest hint of his own reflection in them, “Why come forward now?”

“My primary concern afterwards was Will’s wellbeing. He was shaken, disassociating from the stress. I didn’t want him to be so stressed that it would put us in the position of risking our pup’s health. You must understand.”  
“I find it worrisome that you and Will hid this relationship from me. It makes me wonder what else you could have hidden, Doctor?”

“Will insisted. I don’t wish to speak to you about my private relationship with Will. But if I must, if it’ll put your mind at ease, Will and I are true mates. We bonded early on, and afterwards Will wanted to reject that bond. We’ve only recently decided to work passed this, because we’ve found it difficult to be without each other. Officially, we have been together for a month, though are bond is older. You can confirm with Will, he will tell you the same.”

Jack nods in understand, “I’m sorry to put you in this position.”

“I understand, Jack. There are no hurt feelings among friends.” Hannibal picks up his tea, now tepid, and takes a long sip. “Would you like to stay for dinner? I’d love to have you.”

“I really do need to go—I can’t have Bella waiting too long.” Jack picks up his coat and hat from his seat, pulling them on carefully. He smiles to himself, pondering Hannibal’s confession. It is just as he had suspected—Will and Hannibal are in fact, true mates. He wonders how far Hannibal has gone, into this fantasy of he and Will, how clouded his judgement must be about Will’s true nature.

“I do hope she’s doing well, your Bella.”

“As well as can be, under these circumstances. I’ll take a rain check for dinner. Take care.”

****

Will doesn’t heed Hannibal’s advice, though he should. Despite his omegan desire to please his alpha, Will feels a sense of retaliation build deep within him. A last stand for independence, it would seem. When Jack Crawford calls, he picks up his cellphone without so much as a second thought. The charges against Will had been dropped—of course they would be. Hannibal had fibbed so beautifully, poured his heart out over the strain his mate has been put under given the charges. It had gone done, in official books, that Tobias Budge had come to murder Franklyn and Will in order to win Hannibal’s heart.

Will finds himself in front of a grand tower of bodies, some old and some new. It sends a chill down his spine, his fingertips growing numb from the cold breeze on the beach. The sound of ocean waves in the background begins to take him, but he stops himself.

“It’s a totem pole,” he tells Jack.

“The headpiece is the only recent victim. The others are years, even decades old. At least seven of them were buried on the beach.”

  
“Whoever dug them up knew exactly where they were buried,” Will notes.

“Killing them once wasn’t enough. He came back to defile his victims.”

“These graves weren’t desecrated, Jack. They were exposed.”

Will closes his eyes, allowing the pendulum to swing before him. He drifts away, hopelessly, into the mind of the killer. Jack watches him intently, his eyes burning holes into Will’s skin, wondering why Will sees. Why Will understands. He wonders how such a monster could be so bursting with life, the roundness of his stomach protruding. It’s awkward and unfitting, Jack ponders with disgust. The beast within, hidden in the body of an omega. The world is full of oddities, and Will Graham might just be the biggest of them all. 

****

Will finds himself in Hannibal’s waiting room, panting. The room spins before him, his heart beating as if he’s about to have a heart attack. He stumbles back into a chair, whining.

Hannibal, as if on cue, peers out of his office door, finding his distressed mate. “Will?” He rushes to his side.

Will stands, walking past Hannibal and straight into his office. “I don’t know how I got here,” he stammers as he begins pacing around Hannibal’s office.

“Your car is outside. So we know you drove. Safely it would seem.”

“I was on a beach in Grafton, West Virginia… I blinked and then I was waking up in your waiting room. Except I wasn’t asleep.”

“Grafton, West Virginia is three-and-a-half hours away from here. You lost time.”

  
“Something is wrong with me.”

“You’re disassociating, Will. It’s a desperate survival mechanism for a psyche that endures repeated abuse. You need to stop this. You cannot come to Jack’s side whenever he calls. You’re like a sick dog, and Jack knows this. He suspects—”

“I need to keep the appearance of normalcy!”

“Don’t you understand? Jack suspects you are the Ripper.” For the first time, Hannibal considers shouting, letting his face turn red with fury.

Will begins to laugh then, sickeningly. “That must have been your plan, when you first met me. That you would use me as a scapegoat. Funnily enough, the plan worked in your favor despite the change circumstances.”

Hannibal sighs, stepping towards Will and placing his hands on his arms. “It crossed my mind, yes. But I never considered it, not seriously. You know what you mean to me. You cannot keep working for Jack Crawford. He will wait for the slightest slip.”

“I save lives, Hannibal,” Will asserts, taking a step back from him. “Despite this, what you do, and how I see it—even you admit what I do is good.”

“What about your life? Our pup’s life? I don’t care about the lives you save. I care about your life. And our pup’s life.”

“We can’t go, yet. You said it yourself.” Will looks away from Hannibal, at the floor.

“It would look suspicious.”

“We need an escape route, someone to place the blame on,” Will offers then.

“That would seem to be the case…”

Even then, when Will looks into Hannibal’s deep brown eyes, he knows that Hannibal winces at the thought of someone else taking the credit for his artwork. No one is worthy of it, Hannibal would think. He wonders how far he is willing to go before he would have to betray Hannibal, for himself and for their pup? If Hannibal couldn’t go through with it—Will doesn’t want to think about the consequences. Het lets himself be taken into Hannibal’s arms, instead, carried to the chaise longue, his clothes removed. He tells himself this is what he needs, to be loved and cared for. To be touched by Hannibal Lecter. He stares at the ceiling, fighting away the tears, an image of the future playing like a prophecy project onto it. He wishes he could tear it down and burry the rubble so deep it would never find him again.


	17. Psychedelic Art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This felt like a stand alone chapter. I will update again hopefully tonight or tomorrow morning. :)

The scene before him becomes muddled, confused. He has the slightest inkling that he shouldn’t be here, that this isn’t where be belongs. The frame above him is a cold and dark place, familiar in the barest way. His mind wanders farther down this path, finding the room a comfort. He convinces himself this is where he should be in defiance of the protests of his saner mind. He waits for the show of ankles, gripping them with his hands and tugging so that she, Beth LeBeau, topples over onto the ground. It horrifies him how the blood splatters onto every surface as he cuts into her mouth, making a Glasgow smile on her face. Beth LeBeau chokes on the blood that fills the cavern of her mouth, dying slowly in her own body fluid.

When he begins to come out of this person who is not Will Graham, he slips on the blood, the floor around him different than it had been before. He recalls the pristine condition of it, the parquet clean and shining. The blood has taken it over now. Will falls against the bed, whining in distress as he catches himself before struggling to stand and rushing out of the room past Beverly and Jack. Beverly calls after him, but he doesn’t here.

He thinks on his Alpha, Hannibal, who should be here. Who should protect him. Who should hold him. He darts into the kitchen and finds the kitchen sink where he scrubs his hands desperately in an attempt to clean himself of the blood. It budges barely, and he scrubs harder, so hard his skin shouts in protest. His hands would be red and raw later.

Jack stares at him, enraged and almost disgusted. Will knows what Jack is thinking, that Will had just shown him all he needed to see—to know.

“I’m going to ask you a question and if I think for a moment that you’re withholding anything from me, I cannot guarantee a calm response.”

Will holds his breath, unresponsive to Jack.

“What happened in there?” Jack finally exhales. His eyes are filled with judgement instead of concern.

“I got confused.”

“I’ve seen you confused before. I’ve seen you upset. I’ve never seen you like this. Whatever _this_ is.”

“I’m an old hand at fear. I can manage this one. I just got disoriented. I can go back in,” Will protests.

“That’s not going to happen. You contaminated the crime scene.”

Will begins to shake then, knowing this is his best response. He would feign omega weakness and use it to gain an upper hand against Jack. “I thought I was responsible for it,” he squeaks out, upset.

“You thought you killed that woman?”

“Sometimes with what I do—”

“What you do is take whatever evidence there is and extrapolate. You reconstruct the thinking of a killer, not think you are a killer.”  
“I am pregnant Jack!” Will shouts. “I got lost in the reconstruction. Just for a second. Just a blink. My emotion teetered into something else. I didn’t mean to go that far.”

“I’m calling Hannibal,” Jack decides.

“Please.”

****

Hannibal comes to pick Will up from the home, his car parked in front. He waits outside of it, watching Will’s ever step. He expects for Will to bow his head in shame, to tell him in this way the he was right. Will should have left his position with the FBI before it got this far. Jack hadn’t told him the details, not all of them, but Hannibal knew what the call had meant. He knew the moment he saw Jack’s number on the screen of his cellphone that Will had slipped, he had delved too far and shown Jack too much.

Hannibal clenches his teeth, waiting. When Will looks up at him, eyes begging for mercy, Hannibal relents and takes Will into his arms. “How are you feeling?”

Will shakes his head, tired. “Exhausted, but okay. I’m okay.”

“I don’t need to tell you how dangerous what you’re doing is.”

“I know, Hannibal.” Will sits down in the Bentley and straps himself in, noticing how the seatbelt curves around the roundness of his stomach. He realizes Hannibal is right. He can’t do this anymore, not because of himself. He could care less about himself. The child that kicks within his abdomen—he couldn’t damage it.

As Hannibal starts the engine, Will begins to sob, an Omegan cry that sends Hannibal into a frenzied state. He puts the car back into park, taking Will’s hands into his own. “I love you, you must know. I don’t mean to upset you.”

“I’m being idiotic,” Will blubbers, “I can’t act like how I would if it was just me. It’s selfish, stupid.”

“We’re learning together, my beloved. This isn’t easy.”

“You seem to be much better at it.”

“I’m not the one carrying our child,” Hannibal whispers. “And you are so wonderful, amazing. We made this together,” Hannibal places his hand on Will’s stomach, “but you are growing him or her so beautifully. You’ve softened over the past few months, transformed physically and mentally. I adore every change in you.”

Will manages a smile, realizing months ago he would have run off at these words, at the prospect of being a parent to a child. He leans over and kisses Hannibal on the lips. Hannibal parts from him quickly to scent him. The scent of Hannibal soothes Will, drawing Will into a deep sleep so that Hannibal can drive back to Baltimore.

****

Will wakes up in their home, his dogs running around, “Hannibal?” he calls out, sitting up from the couch.

Hannibal steps through, polishing a fork in his hands, “Yes, Will?”

“My dogs are here.”

“After I left you here, I went to get them. I’d thought, why not?” Hannibal smiles. “Are you happy?”  
“They’ll destroy your home.”

“They’re well behaved, and I thought it would improve your mood having them here. It’s better than you going back to Wolf Trap to spend most of your time with them. And, I’d like you here.”

Will nods, looking down, seeing the splatter of blood on his hands. He blinks several times, willing for the drops of blood to disappear. Eventually, they fade away, his hands restored to rubbed raw and bare. “I feel my nerves clicking like roller coaster cogs pulling up to the inevitable long plunge.”

“Quick sounds. Quickly ended,” Hannibal breathes in, setting the fork down with the towel. “Have you experienced any further loss of time… or hallucinations?” Hannibal asks him hesitantly, joining him on the couch.

Will nods, looking away from him. “This isn’t normal. I know what normal is for me. It’s strange, yes. But this is—I feel insane.”

“It’s possible, rare, but possible,” Hannibal begins with a sigh. “Psychosis during pregnancy,” Hannibal licks his lips. “It could worsen post-partum. It's more common in male omegas than female omegas. I should have been more mindful, more observant.”

“What does that mean for us, Hannibal?”

“I’m not sure.”

“I’m not fit—to—to—” Will begins, stuttering, his heartbreaking. He struggled in the past, he knows, with wanting this—a family, an Alpha, and a child. It took him so long to accept it and his role, Hannibal having been unwavering in his support and care.

“Yes, you are. This is not a permanent condition. And we haven’t confirmed it, yet.”

“But what if it is?”

“It does not change my feelings for you, Will. Everything can be managed.”

Hannibal’s thoughts on the matter linger. He picks Will up in his arms and carries him to the master bedroom, watching him as he nuzzles into Hannibal’s neck. He knows, if Will has this condition, if Jack were to find out… Hannibal shakes his head.

“I’ll protect you,” Hannibal tells Will who is again asleep. “No one will take you away from me.”


	18. Tonalism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will goes to Dr. Sutcliffe for a brain scan, a last resort to check if what he's experiencing is indeed psychological.

Will enters the room in a white gown, Hannibal following closely behind. Dr. Sutcliffe is friendly, smiling. Will notes that he wears a cologne to suppress his scent, but Will can tell he is an Alpha all the same. He wonders if he does it to remain professional for his patients or if he has some other, darker motive. The smile on Dr. Sutcliffe’s face seems insincere, deceptive. Will grimaces, looking up at Hannibal who whispers to him, “He’s an old friend of mine. I trust him implicitly.”

The doctor comes closer to them, patting Hannibal on the back warmly. “You’re in very good hands. Hannibal is the sanest man I know.”

“Dr. Sutcliffe and I were residents together at Hopkins,” Hannibal assures Will.”

“Another life ago,” Sutcliffe laughs. “When you didn’t mind getting your hands dirty.”

“I was always drawn to how the mind works. I found it much more dynamic than how the brain works.”

“The projected image is more interesting than the projector until the projector breaks down,” Sutcliffe concludes before turning to Will. “Any family history of disease?”

“Not that I’m aware of… My mother—she was an omega, uh, left when I was young. Didn’t get the chance to really ask her before that.”

“How old was she when she had you?”

“About the same age I am right now.”

“Did your father mention anything about her behavior when you were younger?”

“Not really.”

Sutcliffe nods, “Well, I guess we’ll find out in any case. How about accidents, head traumas? Even if you’ve had a slip and fall?”

“I’ve had one or two violent encounters. Basic blunt trauma.”

“Ever checked for a concussion?”

“No.”

“You will be today. When did the headaches start? In earnest?”

“Two or three months ago, maybe a bit longer.”

“Around the time Will went back into the field, which is when I met him,” Hannibal smiles, taking Will’s hand into his to soothe him.

“The hallucinations?”

“I don’t know exactly when they started. I just slowly became aware that I might not be dreaming.”

Hannibal heads with Dr. Sutcliffe to another room, allowing Will to sit back on the table and ready himself for the scan. The whirring of the machine roars out, Will head aching at the sound. He remains still nevertheless. In the adjacent room, Hannibal and Sutcliffe stand in front of the screens, Hannibal humming.

“Normal,” he whispers.

“Were you hoping for a physical ailment?” Sutcliffe responds.

“Psychosis cannot be treated during male omega pregnancies. Only post-partum. It will get worse without treatment,” Hannibal exhales shakily.

“How long have you suspected?”

“Not long. I—I’m usually more observant,” Hannibal notes.

“Alphas become very protective of their mates, sometimes to the point where we miss things. We all slip a bit with the frenzy it is to have our first child. Don’t blame yourself.”

“When have you known me to make mistakes?” Hannibal breathes smoothly.

“Perhaps it’s a blessing in disguise.”

“It’s rare to study psychosis during pregnancy. There are limited cases we have to work with. Is that what you’re thinking? Has lab work grown boring for you, Sutcliffe?”

“I will admit the opportunity has presented itself. It’s harmless Hannibal.”

Hannibal shakes his head, “I won’t allow you to use my mate for research purposes. Thank you for your help. We will pay your fee on the way out.”

“No hard feelings, Hannibal,” Dr. Sutcliffe reaches his hand out, gripping Hannibal’s in a firm handshake.

“Of course. I would love to have you for dinner.”

“It would be my pleasure.”

****

Hannibal brings Will home, Will’s pack greeting them at the door. Unlike himself, Will walks past them, unable to looks at Hannibal who refuses to tell him the results he had seen with Dr. Suttcliffe.

“My love,” Hannibal calls out after Will.

“Not now,” Will bites back, heading up the stairs.

Hannibal sighs, petting Winston on his head before placing his keys on the table and heading up after Will. The door shuts in front of Hannibal’s face and locks, “This isn’t acceptable.”

“You aren’t honoring our relationship by hiding things from me, Hannibal,” Will says from the other side of the door. “The least you can do is let me rest. I’m tired.”

“You’re fourteen weeks pregnant, Will. Let me check up on you and I will leave you alone.”

The sound of footsteps grow closer before the door opens a crack, Will’s face peering through. “I’m okay.”

“Let me inside. “I’ll tell you. I wanted to tell you in the comfort of our home, not a stuffy medical building, not the car,” Hannibal relents.

Will nods slowly, opening the door to let Hannibal in. Hannibal takes Will by the hand and guides him to their bed. He pulls Will into his lap, holding him lovingly. “Well, Hann?”

“The MRI was clean.”

“It’s psychological.”

“I can’t treat you until our pup comes.”

“We have twenty-six weeks to go, Hannibal. What if—I’m unstable by then? I can’t do this, Hannibal.”

“Yes, yes you can. We will practice grounding techniques; we will help your mind come to reality in whatever way we can. I want you to practice with me, Will. Think of the time. Think of where you are. Think of who you are. Indulge me, please.”

Will gulps, “It’s 7:16 PM. I’m in Baltimore, Maryland. My name is Will Graham.”

“A simple reminder. A handle to reality for you to hold onto.”

“I’m not fit.”

“You are. You have to believe in the possibility that this will be alright in the end.”

“And what if it’s not?” Will shouts at him, pulling away from his arms. “What if I become like those things that I put away behind bars?”

“You already know who I am, darling. Why are you so afraid?”

“Because that’s not who I am,” Will sobs out. “I accept you, but that is not who I am.”

Hannibal nods, looking at his feet, wondering perhaps if Will had not truly come to terms with who he is, what he is meant to be. The thought crushes him, his hand trembling on his lap. It’s what gives Hannibal’s devastation away to Will, the tremor communicating what Hannibal cannot with words or facial expressions.

“Would you still run with me?” Hannibal questions Will, looking up from his hand.

Will’s inner omega whines out, demanding Will go back to Hannibal. To make Hannibal happy, to promise him the world. Will looks away from Hannibal, unable to stare into his eyes for fear of what he’d find there. If Hannibal would let his person suit slip for a moment to show Will what he is doing to him. He feels like a failure to his Alpha. It is a cruel twist of fate that he should have a true mate. Will touches the scar on his neck, the reminder of his bond with Hannibal. He massages it gently, closing his eyes.

“Please,” Hannibal rasps, standing from the bed. “I have never shared with anyone else what I share with you. There could be no one else.” He takes Will’s hands to his mouth, pressing soft kisses against his fingers.

“The gift you’ve shared with me was wrapped in thorns,” Will breathes out.

“I never meant for it to cut you.”

“It wasn’t you, but what we’re destined to be. I always knew I wasn’t meant for this life. I’ve tasted it, forced myself to push away the plate, only for you to tempt me to take another bite. Do you know how divine it was? This time with you?”

“Will—” Hannibal cuts him off, pulling at Will’s arms.

Will tugs himself away, his heart heavy. “I love you. I’m sorry,” Will tells Hannibal as he leaves. “I’m sorry," he repeats, unsure of where he will go or what he will do. He wonders how long Hannibal would wait for him before running after him, or if Hannibal would run after him at all—this not being his first rejection of the man who’s given him so much love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise that this heartbreak won't last long for either of them!


	19. Incoherents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter tomorrow! *pinky promise*

The forest is cold, and Will feels alone. He’s jealous of the trees whose roots touch, wrapped around each other countless times. His inner omega sprawls out within him, as if laying down on the forest floor aching to be like the trees, bound and together with someone. With its Alpha, with Hannibal. Will shouldn’t have run, pregnant, their child moving within his swollen belly. It’s early in the pregnancy, and it is his first, but he feels her stirring anyway. He knows it’ll be a girl, deep within himself. The mark on his neck almost aches at his desperation, pulsing with each step that takes him farther away from Hannibal. But how could Hannibal want him and his instability? This is not the first time Will Graham has run away from Hannibal.

But his thoughts become muddled as he walks through the forest, the night veiling his mind in darkness. It makes it difficult to parse through his thoughts, to make sense of them. They come in frantic bursts, no two adjacent thoughts related to each other.

_Hannibal, where are you?_

_ I don’t know what’s happening to me. _

_ Will the baby like Winston? Will Winston like the baby? _

_ I hate the sound of branches under my feet, with the fucking—crunch crunch crunch—will they just shut up for once? _

_ Hannibal, Hannibal, Hannibal—I hope the baby looks like you ‘cause I look crazy right now, don’t you think?_

He stops walking, panting, his back landing against a tree. Will looks over his shoulder, spying the rustle of the leaves in the wind. He squints his eyes, trying to make out the outlines of the forest ahead of him, but finds nothing. The crunching doesn’t stop with him, he realizes. Closing his eyes and muting out the sound of his own heartbeat. It grows louder. The train of thought if lost again.

_Jack Crawford you son of a bitch—you think I’m the Chesapeake Ripper. _

_ If my daughter doesn’t like fishing I’m going to bash my head through a wall. _

_ Hannibal must hate me right now. _

_ I should have packed a sandwich if I was going to go for a walk. _

_ Jack has a slap-able face, I think. _

_ Hannibal, where are you?_

He reminds himself quickly, to center his thoughts, around something he knows is true. Maybe it’s a hope at this point. He looks down at his wrist, “It’s 1:17 AM. I’m in Greenwood, Delaware. My name is Will Graham.” Why had he come here?

_He pulls the keys out of his pocket, getting in the car. He does wait, for a time, for Hannibal to step out of the home and urge him to come back inside. The minutes pass slowly, his heartbeats heavy in his chest. His inner omega squeals out sharply as he shoves the key into the ignition, closing his eyes as he pulls the car in reverse. _

_ He doesn’t look back; he doesn’t see Hannibal standing at the door watching him leave or how Hannibal walks as the car pulls away, and how he follows the car for as long as he can see it before stopping when the car finally disappears into the distance. Will can’t bear the thought of seeing Hannibal in the rearview mirror, chasing after him. _

_ He drives to a place he knows, though it’s unexpected. He wants to run away from the blood and murder, but runs straight into it instead, driving to Beth LeBeau’s home. He walks into the house, floorboards creaking under the rubber soles of his shoes. He’s tired, nausea biting at the back of his throat. The bedroom is cleared of a crime, only white tape outlining where the body had once been. He climbs and approaches the bed with no particular reason, a faint whisper telling him the killer would be here. Strangely, he wants her to. _

_ “It’s 10:36 PM. I’m in Greenwood, Delaware. My name is Will Graham,” he whispers underneath his breath, peering underneath the bed to find a corpselike woman shivering in wait. The bed flips over as she darts out of it, the bloodshot whites of her eyes staring into Will and finding nothing. He grabs her, pulling a sheath of skin off of her arm, like a thick and yellow glove laying limp in his hand. He can’t run immediately, turning around to find an empty room, his sight blurring quickly as he loses touch with reality. _

“And you are alive. If you can hear me. You are alive,” Will finds himself uttering into the pitch blackness of the night. He looks down at his hands, realizing that he’s lost the rubbery sheath of her skin.

****

It’s the evening when he returns to the familiar building, waiting in his car. He knows Hannibal would be inside, waiting, even though there is no need for their appointments any longer. He knows that Hannibal would be sitting in his chair, hoping that Will would come at his scheduled time and sit down. Hannibal would sigh into his wine, knowing that Will would sit across from him and talk as if they weren’t mates. He would describe to him a crime scene, a theory. Hannibal would listen intently, grabbing onto every word. A part of Will wants this, for them to resume as normal. The other part of him wants Hannibal to refuse Will’s habit of avoiding conflict, and instead hold onto him.

Will enters the office, his stomach grumbling. He hadn’t eaten since last night, unable to stomach anything since the incident with the woman. He remembers her smell clearly, faint, nearly non-existent. Beta. Scared. Blood.

He closes his eyes before knocking on the office door, waiting. Hannibal doesn’t open the door. His heart shatters at the thought that Hannibal wouldn’t be waiting for him. Perhaps this last incident was enough for him to reject his omegan mate. Will doesn’t linger long, turning around to return to his car. To his empty home in Wolf Trap where he plans to call Hannibal that night to schedule a time to pick up the dogs.

The plan forms in his head quickly, staunchly procedural and professional. Perhaps his dogs would rather stay with Hannibal who cooks much better meals for them than he ever could. He laughs at the thought bitterly, his arms trembling.

“It’s 7-oh-5 PM. I’m in Baltimore, Maryland. My name is Will Graham,” he chokes out, hugging himself. _“Where are you, Alpha?”_ he asks himself.

Hannibal stands on the other end of the room, watching his mate lean against the door, the back of his head hitting it with a dull thud. “You came,” Hannibal exhales, breaking the silence.

The sound of his voice startles Will who believes it to be an auditory hallucination. He blinks several times, realizing that Hannibal is real. The scent of him enters his nose, comforting him immediately. “I came,” Will replies.


	20. Abstract Expressionism

Admittedly, Hannibal hadn’t expected to be in his office that day. He had canceled his appointments in the wake of Will’s absence. He assumed his mate would have returned in the dead of the night, snuck under the covers, and buried his head into Hannibal’s shoulder. It stung when Hannibal had woken up, the other half of the bed empty. His naked body felt cold under the blanket, Will’s body not there to warm him up. So, he canceled his appointments.

The clock ticked away, nearing Will’s appointment time, desperation creeping up within him. He raced out of his home, running a bit late to make it to the office at 7:00. Hope replaced desperation when he saw Will’s car parked on the street, sitting empty.

His omega stood trembling at the doorway. Hannibal stood, watching him until he would open his eyes. When they do, Hannibal’s mouth hangs open for a moment.

“You came,” he finally breathes.

“I came.”

Hannibal approaches Will, pressing his body up against him as he unlocks the door. “You’re mine,” he rasps into Will’s ears, nibbling on his ear lobe. “Mine.”

“Yes, alpha,” Will stutters, submitting.

Scooping Will up into his arms, he brings him into the office, placing him over the desk. “I’ve been good to you. I care for you. I provide for you. And you still need a reminder. Who do you belong to?”

“Only you, Hannibal,” Will wheezes, his chest pressed hard into the desk.

Hannibal’s fingers lightly graze over Will’s buttocks, before he removes Will’s pants. The pale white cheeks of it tease Hannibal. He grasps one in his hand, wiggling it, before slapping it hard, watching it jiggle. “That’s right.”

Slick pools up between Will’s thighs, thick and shining in the light of Hannibal’s office. “Hannibal, please,” he sobs.

“You’ve been very naughty. Disobedient little omega.” Hannibal slides a single finger into Will’s hole, slowly pumping it in and out of him, watching Will squirm.

“I’m sorry, Hann, I’m sorry,” Will breathes, low. “I love you, please.”

Hannibal cracks a smile, inserting another finger into Will. “I missed you, beloved.”

“I was scared,” Will admits, rocking his hips back and forth against Hannibal’s fingers. “I was wrong.”

“I know, little one. Let me show you what home feels like.” Hannibal’s pants drop to the floor, his belt hitting the parquet with a clink. “We both could use the reminder.”

Will moans against the feeling of Hannibal’s cock teasing his entrance. Hannibal thrusts into him slowly, knowing how sensitive Will must be in his pregnant state. Will yelps out as Hannibal increases the intensity, holding him by the hips, and slamming into him hard, once, twice, and then slower, gentler. “Please, Hannibal, I’m so close.”

“I don’t want it to end too soon, darling.”

“I need your knot,” Will protests, bucking his hips. “I need you to fill me up.”

Hannibal closes his eyes at the word, his alpha hindbrain threatening to take control. “I would fill you with my pup again if you weren’t already pregnant. I love seeing you like this, the slight curve of your belly. Everyone will be able to see you’re mine, soon.”

Hannibal pulls out of Will, stroking himself slowly as he watches his omega, deflate. In frustration, Will turns around, sitting on the desk. He pulls Hannibal closer to him with his legs, taking his alpha cock into his hands. “If you’re good to me, I’ll let you fill me up again as soon as I have our pup. I’ll let you keep me full, always. I’ll have as many pups as you want.” He inserts Hannibal’s cock into his hole, watching as Hannibal’s face contorts with ecstasy. “Would you like that, Alpha? I’ll be your good little omega breeder.”

“Ye-yes,” Hannibal groans, thrusting quickly into Will.

Will throws his head back, crying out as the world erupts and then melts away, leaving him in Hannibal in a sea of black. As Hannibal’s knot swells inside of him, he feels that they’re the only two people in the world. There is no Jack, no threat to their family, no pregnancy induced psychosis. They only exist, together.

Hannibal leans over, biting into Will’s neck, where he had bitten him months ago, scarring the area once more. It would be deeper, darker, and more prominent. No one could take his Will away from him; he would kill anyone who would try.

****

Hannibal and Will lay naked in the chaise longue, Hannibal’s arms wrapped around Will. Will purrs in contentment as Hannibal’s hand creeps downwards onto the swell of Will’s belly. He strokes small circles into it, imagining what Will would look like a few months from now, round with their child.

“I feel like I’m seeing a ghost,” Will breathes.

“Regarding this killer or yourself?”

“Both.”

Hannibal pauses, thinking. The warmth of Will’s body against his nearly lulls him to sleep, but he pulls himself out of it. “She’s real. You know she’s real. There is evidence. When you saw her, your sanity did not leave you.”

“Time did,” Will sighs, looking up at Hannibal.

“You lost time again?”

Will nods, unsure of what to say to Hannibal. Hannibal tightens his arms around Will, scenting him. Will relaxes in Hannibal’s arms, nuzzling Hannibal’s neck. “I would have been happier if there was some physical cause. Maybe I’m as crazy as Jack thinks I am.” 

“Nonsense. We’ll keep looking if you want. Maybe there’s something we’ve both missed.”

“The highly aware and flawless Dr. Lecter missed something? I don’t think so.”

“I am not flawless, Will. But it makes me happy that you think that.”

“You’re damn near perfect.” Will presses a kiss into Hannibal’s neck.

“Have you considered Cotard’s syndrome?” Hannibal changes the topic suddenly. “It’s a rare delusional disorder in which a person believes he or she is dead.”

“Talking about the killer or me?”

“The killer, of course?”

“She couldn’t see the victim’s face. Or she was trying to uncover it.” Will smiles, mulling over Hannibal’s words.

“The inability to identify other is associated with Cotard’s syndrome. It’s a misfiring in the areas of the brain which recognize faces, and also in the amygdala, which adds emotion to those recognitions.” When Will doesn’t respond Hannibal continues. “Even those closest to her could seem like imposters.”

“She reached out for help, someone she loved, someone she trusted. She felt betrayed, became violent.”

“She can’t trust anything or anyone she once knew to be trustworthy. Her mental illness won’t let her. Have you ever felt that way, Will?”

“We’re going back to what’s troubling you,” Will fires back, sitting up and turning his back to Hannibal. He places his hands on his stomach, stroking it lovingly. He couldn’t wait until their daughter’s kicks would become stronger, so that Hannibal could feel them too. “I think it’s a girl, you know?”

Hannibal laughs, smiling. “I want you to be ready for this. For our family. But I realize that it may not be what you want. You don’t trust that I will want you if your mental illness worsens. That isn’t the case. I never wanted a mate. It would have been inconvenient as the Ripper to seek one out. So I never had.”

“But you chased after me.”

“I found myself unable to let you go. So I never will, because I made that decision the moment I laid eyes on you in Jack Crawford’s office. Whatever comes at us, I will be by your side. And our daughter will be happy to have you as her mother. Things will get better with time. You have to believe me.”

“I can try,” Will gives in. “We should go home. Get under the sheets. Don’t want to wake up in your office tomorrow to your first patient of the day walking in on us naked here.”


	21. Photorealism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hannibal dines with Sutcliffe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will finish this fic. I promise.

Donald Sutcliffe sits at Hannibal’s dining table. It had been long since he’d dined with the good doctor, his mouth salivating at the thought of the fine Spanish ham on the table. Hannibal takes his place at the dining table across from Sutcliffe, eyeing the man curiously before smirking.

“Jamon Iberico,” Sutcliffe says.

“There is no equivalent,” Hannibal says.

It’s trite, unfitting for the mood in the room. Hannibal smells the sour scent of a fib on Sutcliffe’s skin. He should have sensed it before—lies are particularly pungent olfactory offenders. Hannibal would even consider them to be rude, given the circumstances.

Nevertheless, Hannibal cuts into the meat, imagining instead that it is Sutcliffe’s thigh he is cutting into instead of a pig’s. A thin slice, nearly transparent, cascades onto Sutcliffe’s plate with a morbid grace.

“For the Iberico, only a few pigs are selected each year. Once chosen, they roam the fields of Western Spain, enjoying a diet of local acorns and roots which give the hame its distinct flavor. But is the pig, once fattened and slaughtered and air-cured, superior to any other pig, or is simply a matter of reputation preceding product?” Hannibal muses.

Sutcliffe takes a bite, savor the salty flavor of the meat against his tongue. “Irrelevant. If the meat-eater believes it’s superior, belief determines value.”

“A case of psychology overriding neurology.”

“A case of reputation being king, but referrals begin better.”

Hannibal must say, he’s intrigued by Sutcliffe’s comment—perhaps a slip of tongue revealing his true nature.

“Indeed,” Hannibal replies. His plate remains empty.

“We know how Iberico chooses his pigs. How did you choose yours?” Dr. Suttcliffe asks.

“Are you referring to Will Graham?”

“I never expected you would find a mate. Ever the perfectionist. And you’re so fond of the rarefied. What makes him so rare?”

  
“Will Graham has a remarkably vivid imagination. Beautiful. Pure empathy. Nothing he can’t understand and that terrifies him, but I find it wonderful. We have little choice in the matter of true mates, but I can say that no matter how unexpected it was to find Will Graham, I don’t regret finding him.”

Sutcliffe sighs, “Will Graham wants to have more tests.”

“I want Will to have more tests, too,” Hannibal insists.

“Are you questioning my assessment?”

“He is my mate. Naturally, I’m worried. Better safe than sorry, given that he’s also with pup.”

Hannibal doesn’t require more conversation to know Sutcliffe had obscured something, in some way, so that Will would appear to be suffering from psychosis. Meanwhile, Will sleeps upstairs while Hannibal and Sutcliffe dine, unaware that with each passing day his scent grows more bitter. Hannibal would have to have to schedule a visit with another doctor, only as a precautionary measure. There’s no need to murder Sutcliffe so violently if he’s not guilty of all that Hannibal believes him to be.

****

Will wakes from his sleep, eyes still heavy, with a discomfort in his belly. He kicks the covers off of his legs, moaning, staring up at bright lights. It dawns on him suddenly, the urge to scream taking over him: the bed doesn’t smell of Hannibal. Will sits up, finding himself in a plain white room. Heart monitor pads stick to his chest, and the heart monitor beeps loudly to his right. Through it all, the oppressiveness of the room and the fear that fills Will, Hannibal isn’t here to soothe him.

Unsure, Will tiptoes out of the bed, letting the monitor pads peel off of his chest. He looks down at his floral hospital gown, abdomen still swollen, and feet bare against cool tile floors. Of course, he would be here, at the hospital. It dawns on him. That he belongs nowhere else, not even by Hannibal’s side. Why would he ever deserve such a fate? The unhinged mewl of the wendigo enters Will’s ears, familiar claws poking into his shoulders.

“It’s just you and me, and the baby,” Will whispers.

The wendigo licks its lips, sharp teeth stained black laid bare.

“We should escape,” Will laughs.

The wendigo grabs onto his arm, tearing through the hospital room door, and running through hallways that seem too full of people and chairs. They tumble through wretched corridors, searching. The baby kicks within Will’s womb, unsettled by the sudden upset.

“Hannibal,” Will finds himself shouting even though he distinctly feels that he would be unable to find Hannibal, here.

****

Will jumps out of bed, landing on his hands and knees. The floor creaks underneath his weight, carpet fibers burning his fingertips. He stops for a moment, breathing in, realizing he finds himself in the familiar room which smells of him and Hannibal, the faint scent of copulation still in the air.

Calmed, Will closes his eyes, inhaling. The floor creaks once more, but the sound doesn’t come from beneath Will’s arms and legs. Eyes snapping open, Will turns to his right finding jaundiced eyes staring back at him. The woman’s decrepit arm, trembling, reaches out to Will. Carefully, Will lays on the ground staring into the terrified and woeful eyes of Georgia Madchen.

“I see you, Georgia,” Will breathes.

He waits for her to say something, but her mouth remains shut. Waiting.

“Think of who you are,” he continues.

She calms slowly, trusting Will though she doesn’t know why or how. She sees the curve of his belly and the warmth of his smile, reassuring.

“It’s midnight. You’re in Baltimore, Maryland. Your name is Georgia Madchen. You are not alone. We’re here together,” Will says.

“Am I alive?” George asks, voice creaking from disuse.

Slowly, Will guides her out from under the bed. They remain seated on the floor, staring at each other, Georgia’s omegan scent filling the air. He spots her hand shifting, unconsciously, to the curve of her abdomen—and something tells him immediately that her Alpha was Beth. That Georgia isn’t aware that the only person who could have brought her comfort, could have brought her to realizing a semblance of reality, is gone by her own hand. He brings Georgia into his arms, sobbing, swearing quietly to himself that he would protect her.


End file.
